


No Time For Cameras

by AshleyM (dyella)



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Bisexual Female Character, F/M, Fame, Film Festival, Film making, Smut, The Last Five Years, Theatre, Toronto International Film Festival, becoming famous, hopefully some fluff too, relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-01-10 04:17:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 31,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1154881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyella/pseuds/AshleyM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christine all her life has dreamed of a writing/directing career in theatre and film, but she never expected to start becoming a household name just at the age of twenty-three. Thrust into the world of show-business, she must work on establishing her dream career whilst dealing with the new perks (and problems) that come with it-- starting with meeting her very famous, and much older crush, Benedict Cumberbatch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't Forget to Breathe Now

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry that this chapter might be a bit slow -- I promise more (including a bit of smut) in the next one!

_Toronto. International. Film Festival._ Christine glided her finger against the rim of her glass. She couldn’t recall the exact flavor of amber liquor that filled most of the crystal cup. Drinking was still a fairly new game to her, and a game she played very poorly, at that. At the moment, she was craving a nice, warm mug of the spiced pumpkin grounds that awaited her at her hotel. She had almost forgotten to bring the little bags of her favorite brew. It wasn’t until after twenty minutes of driving away from her safe and familiar home that she had remembered, and she had to drive back and start the journey all over again. _Toronto International Film Festival. T-I-F-F. TIFF._ It wasn’t too late (only midnight), but it was certainly too late for coffee. She had also promised herself to make the most of this experience. How couldn’t she? _Toronto fucking International fucking Film Fest._ Her insides were twisting every time someone brushed past her bar stool.

Christine had always found herself in love with film. There was something incredible to her about recreating the human experience through fantasy; evoking empathy through pretend; creating entire new worlds through the minds of brilliantly creative and collaborative people. It was a wonderfully pleasant contradiction, and a world that fascinated her and scared her shitless all at once. It was a world she knew she wanted to be a part of.

Growing up in Chicago, Christine found herself very close to that world, and yet very separated from it. It wasn’t like growing up in New York or LA where it was a near impossible business to avoid. The glitz and glamour is found everywhere there. One breath in those cities is like breathing in every dream you’ve ever forgotten. There is so much energy coursing through the pavements. Those worlds are of flash and sweat and what it means to make it big. But in Chicago -- in Chicago it was simply the art. You could never escape it there. Chicago had such an understated quality to it. She could often just look out at the skyline and feel inspired simply by the shape of the clouds teasing skyscraper antennas.

It was so much different from where she was now.

Not that Toronto exudes the same sort of glittery excitement as LA or NYC. In fact, in times of quiet, Toronto and Chicago felt very similar. It rained her first day in town, and the smell of the air was intoxicating. It was the very embodiment of oxygenated peace and ambition.

She had always wanted to go to a film festival, too. Week long celebrations of film? God, she yearned to be a part of that too. Not only was she now at her very first film festival, let alone one of the biggest and most celebrated film festivals of the world, but she was sitting at the bar in the middle of one of the biggest celebrity bashes of the year, surrounded by directors and actors and neon lights, and a _lot_ of alcohol, all to commemorate the opening ceremonies and Ridley Scott’s latest collaboration with lead Michael Fassbender. No, this was truly a rare occasion, and one she was lucky to be a part of. She wanted to dance. She wanted to drink and mingle and meet all the incredible people who had inspired her for the last ten years to keep pursuing her dream. This was an exclusive opportunity she might not ever experience again. For this week, she gets to be a part of the world that seemed very far away to her. It was her every dream. It was perfection. It was almost impossible. It was wonderful.

But why did it have to be _her_ film premiering tomorrow?  


 _Of Memory and Sunsets_ had somehow ended up on several TIFF anticipation lists in the last couple of months, and she hadn’t a clue why. First off, she was _nobody_. Not to say that in a self-deprecating way. But truly, when it came to this world, and this business, she was nobody. She had never worked on a film. She had never had her writing produced before. She hadn’t acted in anything notable, nor even made much of a name for herself with directing theatre until six months ago. It was her first time directing that made up one third of the reason she found herself lucky enough to be presenting at TIFF.

She had been fortunate enough to be friends with an up and coming playwright who was interested in her directing his latest piece, which happened to be collecting some interest from Steppenwolf, who agreed to let Christine direct as a newcomer, who presented the show to much critical acclaim. So her name started gaining attention with that.

Of course, another third of the reason behind her TIFF success was simply because she had submitted the film on a casual whim, and for some inexplicable reason, the reviewers had _liked_ it.

And the last third-- you know how they say half the way to success is just knowing the right people? -- the last third was no exception to the rule: The girl she cast as her lead in _Of Memory and Sunsets_ , Victoria Castillo, was also cast in the upcoming film adaptation of _Brave New World_ that Guillermo del Toro was producing, just after post-production had begun on Christine’s film. Though Christine’s recent theatrical successes may have contributed to the excitement, it was the debut of Victoria that everyone was excited for, and before she knew it, the anticipation for _Of Memory and Sunsets_ was hot. A.O. Scott had even put in his top five films premiering at TIFF.

Yes, Christine was living the dream. She was only twenty-three and premiering her writing/directing debut at one of the biggest film fests worldwide. She was premiering her very _personal_ writing/directing debut. In front of hundreds of people. Hundreds of people, including writers and directors she loved. Hell, she even hated some of them. But they’d be there, watching and judging her. Hype was a very deadly social construct. Her best friend had even said that she heard several actors were interested in the film, including Anna Kendrick, Scarlett Johansson, and even Benedict Cumberbatch. That idea sickened Christine even more. She had been waiting for _Lost City of Z_ for years now. She’ll be seeing Ben’s latest startlingly good adventure, and in return he might be seeing her overly sentimental indie flick? That seemed like a cruel joke. She wanted to go home. Chicago home. But she had made it there, and might not have ever made it there again. _Nothing is going to happen until the premiere_ , she settled, _so I can’t worry about anything until then. Might as well make the most of now_. Bracing herself with a grimace, she swallowed half of her glass of whiskey (Did she really ask for whiskey? Of all things, whiskey??) and decided to have a good ol’ time.

She slid down from her bar stool and eyed the crowd. The room was spinning a bit from all the motion and alcohol. Not knowing a single person there, she pushed herself into the pit of dancing Hollywood, hoping to be inspired to try to strike up conversation with somebody, anybody, or at the very least, dance with someone. She looked around, more than a bit overwhelmed, when suddenly a few familiar synth chords played from the sound-system. After a few more notes, it was clear it was Matt & Kim’s “Cameras.” There were a few “woo”s in the crowd, and even one from Christine, as it was one of her favorites. Bodies on all sides of hers starting rocking smoothly to the music, and as she walked to the center, she found herself swerving to the beat.

_Sun’s going down, let’s get together_  
 _On the bridge we’ll meet up tonight_

The liquor was settling comfortably in her system. She looked around a bit more through the haze of colored lights and drunk famous bodies, and caught eyes with a cute young guy who was dancing. He grinned at her, and she grinned back in spite of herself, still weaving through the crowd.

_You see what I see, I thought it make believe_  
 _Watched the sun rise on my street_

Everyone was laughing and drunk and dancing and confident. It was the enticement and allure of this business, and something Christine couldn’t help but feel attracted to at that moment. She still felt alone, but she felt less self-conscious about it. She made a choice to turn back towards the guy who had smiled at her. When she was able to catch his eye again, he turned toward her, smiling.

_While I know it’s letters that can spell_  
 _I hear now it’s words that can say_  
 _I decided to start writing less_  
 _And I’m talking more everyday_

The lights were dim and the air hazy, so she couldn’t see details very well, but he looked cute and she wasn’t picky about her company. She wasn’t sure who he was. Maybe an upcoming writer. He hesitantly put his hands on her hips, and she moved closer to him, swaying her hips in time to the beat. There was something about the song that was so very sexy, and she allowed herself to tap into that and feel very sexy herself. _Maybe at the very least I could get laid tonight,_ she thought. _At least that would release the stress a little_.

_I see that we’re made of_  
 _More than blood and bones_  
 _See we’re made of sticks and stones_

She felt a body close in from behind her, and someone try saying over the music, “Mind if I cut in?”

_Don’t forget to breathe_  
 _Need locks for your keys_

The cute boy she had been dancing with shrugged and let go of her before she could intervene. _Well, there goes_ that _option._ She sighed. She turned to see who had wanted to dance with her (and who asked in a strangely polite way).

_Don’t forget to breathe now_  
 _Forget to breathe now_

His hands had already found their way around her waist before she had much time to react. Her breath caught in her throat and she was suddenly very aware of the way she had been moving her hips and rolling her body.

“Do you mind?” Her shock was probably splattered across her face. There was a reason she never went into acting. She just shook her head slightly. He grinned, eye crinkles and all, seeming relieved that she hadn’t objected.

Nervous? Stressed? No, this was beyond that. Forget the sheer horror of Benedict Cumberbatch going to see her _film_. Right now he was wanting to see her _dance_. Wanting to dance _with her_. Chicago felt very far away. It felt nonexistent. She was on a different planet. A dream. Nightmare. Something unreal and terrifying.

She moved cautiously to the music, very self-conscious and feeling very much like a bunny being watched in a cage. His smile fell into concern upon realizing her lack of enthusiasm.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine--” she tried saying.

“I was too forward, wasn’t I?” He let his hands drop away from her waist. “I’m terribly sorry, you were having fun with that other bloke, weren’t you? I shouldn’t have interrupted. Terribly rude of me. I might’ve had a drink too many, truth be told. I really apologize for making you feel uncomfortable. If I had my wits about me better, I might’ve--”

Despite her nervousness in his presence, she couldn’t help but giggle at the way his mouth was babbling on incessantly.

“Rambling, aren’t I?” She nodded, still giggling. “Right. Sorry.” He grimaced at himself, his arm crossing over his chest to tug on his ear, embarrassed. “Leave you alone, now?”

“No, no, no,” she stopped him, a bit too quickly. “It’s uh, it’s fine. I’m sorry, I might be the one being a complete idiot right now. This is all very new to me, and I know who you are and you probably don’t know who I am and I just froze up a bit.”

“You seemed comfortable with the other guy.” Benedict pointed loosely in the direction that her previous dance partner went off to.

“To be quite honest, I’ve no idea who that was.” Christine laughed, a little more comfortably. He laughed along with her.

“Yeah ... me neither.” He looked down as the music continued to pulse. Alcohol was still sitting heavy in Christine’s system, and some of her nerves were calmed since he initiated conversation. Not wanting to let this truly once in a lifetime opportunity fly past her (after all, she did promise to herself to enjoy the night), she grabbed both of his hands bravely and returned them to her waist.

“It’s okay. Let’s dance. I like this song, would be a shame to miss a chance to keep dancing to it.” That got a genuine smile out of him.

“Alright, then.”

They both started to move, loosely. No complicated moves, no hurried movements, just a lot of swaying of the hips and shoulders, bodies a moderately safe distance apart. Christine was sure she had to be dreaming, as she still had no clue why exactly he had wanted to dance with her in the first place, and why he looked so hurt when he thought she might reject him. He was, as he admitted, fairly drunk, as was she, so there wasn’t much mental capacity for questioning or understanding. At any rate, she was glad the event turned out to be more dreamlike than nightmarish, and that she had found a small ounce of bravery to not let her anxieties get the best of her. Their bodies were slowly moving closer together as they became more comfortable with one another, and there was laughing and drunk smiles for no particular reason whatsoever.

_No time for cameras_  
 _We’ll use our eyes instead_

For the first time since she approached her, Christine felt relaxed enough to really look at him. It was still difficult considering the dimness of the lights, but she could make out distinct details she had seen countless times on screen and in print. He seemed even lankier in person, but strong and confident in posture. He was wearing a basic black/white suit, but his shirt buttons were part undone with his tie loose. His hair, shorter and light brown for his latest role, was probably slicked back at the beginning of the night, but small waves had come undone and fell across his forehead. His entire face lit up when he smiled, and his smile was always genuine. She couldn’t see his eyes well, but they seemed a little dark. The color was indistinct without more light. His hands were large and firm around her back and waist. Her hands had found their way to his own waist, which was equally firm.

_No time for cameras_  
 _We’ll be gone when we’re dead_

His arms shifted slightly, pulling her in closer. Was this ... _chemistry?_

_No time for cameras_  
 _We’ll use our eyes instead_

He looked down from where he stood about a foot taller than her, and almost blushed as she looked back at up at him. Was that ... _interest?_ He leaned down to speak right into her ear. She tried not to shiver against his hands.

_I see flashes of gold_

“Care to have a drink with me?”


	2. Closing Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benedict and Christine get to know each other, in more ways than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny little bits of smut. I promise chapters that are more NSFW in the future. :)

Christine couldn’t move. Or, at least, she wasn’t allowed to. It was against the rules. Benedict was laughing breathily against her neck.

“Not a sound,” he whispered, lips against her skin, “or we’ll get in trouble.” She kept her own lips closed very tight, but couldn’t help but smile as his nose nuzzled her jaw. “Uh uh uh,” he whispered again, voice even lower. “Not a move, not a ssssound. Can’t give us’away, now, can we? We’re not alooooone.” Christine could see the cab driver cautiously eyeing them as Benedict attempted to stifle a giggle. He was pissed. She was smashed. They were both very, very drunk, and very, _very_ horny.

* * *

 

After the somewhat awkward encounter on the dance floor, things had become considerably more relaxed between Christine and Ben (as he insisted she refer to him) once they sat down and shared a drink. The music choices had mellowed out, and half the dancing bodies became mingling ones. It was then Christine realized how much of a business event this film festival was, and although it was a celebration of all the work of those who made it there, it was also a chance for colleagues from all different ends of the business to get to know one another, talk about their projects, propose business, share ideas, etc. It was like a celebrity conference, and there was something very intimidating but intimate in seeing this side of stardom; the side everyone often forgot about; the fact that beneath the stardust and fame and fashion and blockbusters, this was a business, and this was a _job_ for a lot of these people. A job many of them took seriously, and a job many of them loved. In that instant, Christine had forgotten about the terror of presenting her own work to these people and was immensely grateful that she was there, getting to be a part of it, working and loving work as they did. Even Benedict, who was creating a path for her to follow through the crowd, didn’t seem so frightening. He was like everyone else in that room. He was someone who had a job -- yes, a peculiar job to some, but a job nonetheless -- that he loved, and he strived to do the best work he possibly could. He was no different than a lot of people, in that respect, and it helped peel off some of his more frightening and impossible layers.

He led her to the bar. It was the same bar where her evening started, though compared to how lonely and anxious she felt then, she was in a much better place now. Ben immediately sat down and called upon the bartender while Christine sat to the right of him. Recognizing her from earlier, the beautiful blonde server looked from Christine, to Ben, to Christine again, and raised an eyebrow, apparently impressed and a little jealous of the progress Christine had made in such short amount of time.

“What can I get you, Mr. Cumberbatch?”

“I don’t think you could do me wrong with a glass of whiskey.”

“Gotcha. And another whiskey for you, Miss ... ?”

“Scott. Er, Christine Scott.” She replied more for Ben’s benefit than the bartender’s. It was unfair for her to know his entire biography and for him to not even have a clue of her name. “No, uhm, I think I’ll have a martini, actually.”

“Right away. Those whiskeys didn’t seem to be settling with you earlier, anyway.” She walked to a shelf to get their drinks ready, leaving Christine to blush in embarrassment. Ben was looking at her rather inquisitively.

“I, er, thought I’d start the night off with whiskey when I was at the bar earlier. Wasn’t my best idea.” He chuckled, but he was looking at her with the same expression. “Why are you looking at me like that? Is my makeup smudged? It’s alright if you tell me, I wouldn’t have expected you to notice earlier, what with the dim lights, but I could probably run off to the bathroom and fix it now--”

“No, I just thought you said ... You’re Christine Scott?”

“Oh.” Her blush only deepened a shade in fear her name was too recognizable. Maybe she was better off anonymous to him, so even if he did see her movie and hated it, he’d never have to make the connection. “Yes.”

“You’re the director everyone has been talking about?” He almost seemed excited, if not a little surprised.

“I guess, though I really don’t think it’s everyone. I honestly didn’t think anyone would know about--”

“ _Of Memory and Sunsets?_ ”

“Yeah.”

“I can’t believe it!” He was grinning now. “No, really. You have no idea how excited I am to see your film. I’ve been reading up on it loads. A couple of writers in _The Guardian_ even mentioned it in their TIFF lists. You realize you’re becoming quite famous, don’t you?” The bartender arrived with their drinks and two little coasters.

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true.” Christine was looking down now, her terror starting to creep back up on her.

“Uh, do you two need anything else?” the blonde beauty asked.

“Yes, do you know who she is?” Ben was pointing excitedly to Christine, who could only smile sheepishly. The bartender tried her best not to be offensive.

“Er, no, I’m sorry, your name didn’t ring a bell at least. Who is she?” She looked genuinely apologetic about not knowing. With a job at gigs like TIFF, name recognition is a customer-service must.

“Christine Scott. Wrote and directed _Of Memory and Sunsets_. It’s premiering tomorrow.” He almost sounded proud as he rattled on the achievement of his companion for the night.

“Wait, I think I have actually heard about that!” She turned towards Christine with interest. “You’re like, really young, right?”

“Yeah. Twenty-three.” Christine tried to look as proud of herself as everyone else seemed to be.

“Hey, don’t look so embarrassed. I’m about ten years older than you and the only way I can get into these festivals is through bar-tending, where I can guarantee you at least twenty of these guys are hitting on me. And one of them is almost always Sean Penn.” Christine laughed. “Although I have to say, your friend here,” she gestured to Ben, who was still beaming with pride in these new developments, “is not the worst male attention you could be receiving here.” If Christine didn’t know better, she would’ve thought the bartender winked at her. “I’m Samantha, by the way. You two let me know if you need anything else.” And she smiled once more at both Christine and Ben before walking away. _What was that about?_ Christine speculated. It seemed as though Samantha was getting at something that went over Christine’s head. So much was happening that night, it was hard to keep up. All she did know is that she still had to present her dumb film the next day, and Ben was still looking at her as if he met William Shakespeare himself.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked him once again.

“I’ve just ... I was really hoping I’d get to meet you.”

* * *

 

The cab ride was feeling unbearably long. Christine had to close her eyes to prevent herself from squirming against Ben’s fingertips creeping up her thigh. She had opted for a short, black, off-the-shoulder dress for the surprisingly warm, September night. And she certainly was not regretting the choice. She hadn’t a lot of money to buy her wardrobe for the trip, so she had made a last minute run to Forever21 and tried to do her best to fake it. She wanted to try to look like she belonged with the famous crowd without standing out too much, and was able to find some fairly affordable dresses she hoped would do the trick. If she could get a few looks of interest thrown into the deal, she would have felt successful, and even without, she would’ve at least went home with some cute new dresses.

But _this_. No, this was way more than she could have hoped for. She could never have anticipated Benedict’s teeth grazing down her bare and freckled shoulder. She didn’t even consider the flowy skirt would be perfect for his quiet hands to slowly slide up her thighs. She was hoping to turn a few heads momentarily, maybe get checked out by a few up and coming writers. Maybe get one size-up from a semi-famous actor. There were no intentions or expectations of having Ben’s hot, alcohol-laced breath whispering in her ear, and certainly not whispering “God, you look so _fucking_ sexy.” She couldn’t help but wonder why anyone needed $10,000 gowns when this frock seemed to be doing just fine, and she was able to get it for just under $20 (well, just over with tax).

Yeah, this dress seemed to be doing just fine. Although, something told her she wouldn’t be wearing it much longer.

* * *

“Me? Really? _You_ wanted to meet _me?_ Well, that’s funny.” Christine scoffed before dipping into her martini, desperately wanting to calm down her nerves. Though, there might not be enough alcohol in the world to do that.

“What? Why is that funny?” Ben swished his liquor a bit in response.

“Well, it just is, I guess.” She gulped heavily. “I mean, I know who you are. I’ve _known_ who you are. I’ve seen a fair amount of your work. Have been pretty excited to see the work you’re premiering tomorrow. And you,” she gestured to his entire being, “wanted to meet _me?_ I’m just some young chick who made a crappy little movie that got lucky.”

“That’s a wonderful way to advertise yourself,” he answered dryly. “But don’t sell yourself so short. There’s a lot of interest in you, not just from me. I suppose none of us can really judge the quality of your work, but it’s likely to be very good to make it here on your first try. And your story is very interesting: Twenty-three year old girl, fresh out of college, just had a hit on stage in Chicago, writes and directs this film that supposedly reexamines love and the human condition that makes it to bloody _Toronto International Film Fest?_ You are aware that’s a fucking big deal, right?” He suddenly became aware of himself. “Oh God, please excuse my language. I usually try to contain it unless I know well the person whom I’m speaking to.”

“Oh, no need to contain yourself around me.” Christine paused, wondering if there was too much innuendo in what she said. “I mean, I have the mouth of a fucking sailor. American, remember? Language doesn’t phase me a bit. We’re all rude potty mouths. Though, I guess I should try to be more ladylike, especially in a setting like this.” Ben shrugged. She was relieved for the topic change, and hoped he would forget what they were talking about in the first place.

“I don’t mind it. I really don’t think there’s much criteria in what constitutes being ‘ladylike.’ If you consider yourself a lady, that should be lady enough.” He finished the last drops of amber and waved Samantha over.

“Oh, please stop saying the word ‘lady.’ It’s such a weird word.”

“You used it first, might I remind you.”

“Well, I’ll be the one to use it last, then. I consider myself a ‘lady,’ and that is ‘lady’ enough. And I’m a damn good ‘lady’ at that. Good enough for you?” Ben laughed, his face glowing again. If she didn’t know better, Christine could’ve sworn she saw him look her up and down, just for a moment. Samantha returned with a new glass of whiskey. He raised it.

“Most certainly good enough for me.”

* * *

 

The rest of the evening at the party went a lot like that: Dry banter, some discussion of the festival, some discussion of Christine’s achievements (of which she consistently changed the topic from), some discussion of Benedict’s achievements (leading to the inevitable, “So you’re a fan?” to which Christine nodded. With a smarmy grin, he started to inquire “Are you a ‘Cumberb--’” which Christine briskly cut off with a “God, no. I just appreciate your work.” Which was a big, fat, lie), and a lot of replenishing from drinks from an increasingly interested Samantha. Every time she walked back with a full glass to see Benedict and Christine leaning even closer to one another, she’d give Christine a private look that always seemed to say “Oh my _God_.” Christine always ignored it. The night went on like this for another two hours until it was about 2 a.m. and the party was near over.

“Sorry, you two, but I gotta close the bar up. It’s late and I think you two oughta head back to your hotel.” There was more than a little suggestion in their bartender’s voice, but they were too drunk to notice. As if on cue, whoever was in control of the music had chosen to put on “Closing Time” as a joke, eliciting a few laughs, and quite a few groans from the remaining guests.

“Right, er, uhm, what, uh, what hotel are ya’at?” Christine was slurring.

“The, uhhhh, the ... shit. Hold on.” Ben put his head in his hands and concentrated. “Th’ilton. Hilton, yessss, Hilton. Gardenin’.”

“Do you mean the Garden Inn?” Samantha helped, trying to hold down her own giggles at Ben’s drunken state.

“Yesss, yes yes. That one.”

“That’s’where _I’m_ staying!” Christine replied happily, overly amazed at what was really a not-so-surprising coincidence.

“We should share a cab!” Ben blurted out, equally amazed.

“Let me call one for you both.” Samantha was trying very hard not to lose her professional cool, but couldn’t help but grin at the drunk couple she had been rooting for all night. She headed towards the phone to call the cab company.

“That’s, that’sssooo amazing. Like. I just feel so _connected_ to you right now, y’knowhatimean? S’like fate. Or somefing.” Christine was a talking mess when drunk. She was beyond drunk at the moment.

“Oh, yeah. Defnitly.” They both started giggling at one another as Samantha returned to announce that the cab would be waiting for them in fifteen minutes.

“Do you two need any help getting outside?”

“No, nah, we’re k.” Christine replied confidently. Ben slid off his bar stool, and tried to help Christine off of hers. She stumbled off right into his chest, which took them both a moment to process, but once they did, they giggled even more. Ben smiled down at her, just as he did when they first danced in what seemed like ages ago. His smile was playful, but his eyes dark, and despite her drunkenness, Christine was catching on much better to the signs. She didn’t want to believe it earlier, as it had seemed rather impossible, but after talking and drinking for so long, Christine suspected Ben might be attracted to her, and there was no doubt in her mind that she was just as attracted to him.

_I know who I want to take me home_   
_I know who I want to take me home_   
_I know who I want to take me home_   
_Take me home_

She didn’t have to question for much longer. As they  walked away from the bar and through the crowd towards Coat Check, their hands stayed holding one another’s. The mellow song played softly in the background as they found their tickets (after a confusing struggle) and waited patiently for the young man to return with their coats. Ben was standing behind her as they waited alone, and in the dim light, he made the brave choice to hold her by the waist and pull her close against him.

His speech was surprisingly clear this time, so there was no mistaking when he whispered in her ear “What are the chances of us sharing more than a cab tonight?” The boy returned with their coats, and handed them back to their owners carefully. He was purposefully avoiding eye contact, clearly walking in on a moment he didn’t want to be in trouble for seeing. Ben slid on his coat, struggling only a little, and helped Christine slip into her black longcoat in silence.

_Every new beginning_   
_Comes from some other beginning’s end_

Once she managed to do most of the buttons, Christine turned to face Ben, and offering her best cheeky grin, finally answered;

“Your room or mine?”

* * *

 

And that was how they ended up sitting close in the backseat of a cab, playing the secret-touching game.

That was how Christine found herself pressing the button for her floor in the elevator, only for Ben to slowly lean down and kiss her once the doors closed.

It is how she found herself in a much deeper kiss against the door that led them to her room, Ben’s long fingers pulling at the hem of her well-chosen dress.

And it wasn’t long after that before she found herself in nothing but her lace panties, writhing in bed underneath the drunk, heavy, _perfect_ body of her celebrity crush and inspiration, whom she had only met several hours before.

And it wasn’t long after that, with his ( _perfect_ ) lips against her heaving chest, and with the cloudy effects of alcohol slowly starting to wear off, that in spite of herself, and in spite of the positive turn of events and the once-in-a-lifetime amazing opportunity that was literally laying on top of her, Christine had to gently touch Ben’s ( _perfect_ ) shoulder, and command;

“Wait.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song used for this chapter is "Closing Time" by Semisonic
> 
> This is the dress I imagined Christine wearing:  
> [](http://s1016.photobucket.com/user/tgmtnait/media/Screenshot2014-01-26at102039PM_zpsa1d789ce.png.html)[](http://s1016.photobucket.com/user/tgmtnait/media/Screenshot2014-01-26at102051PM_zps37458d10.png.html)


	3. Coming Out of My Cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the night, and the morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lost City of Z is still very early in production, so I've just guestimated around the time it'll premiere. For the sake of this fanfic, let's say it comes out around 2015 or 2016. :)

Ben’s face scrunched up in drunken confusion, leaving crinkles between his brows and his eyes filled with concern. _God bless this poor man_ , Christine thought.

“Ben, wait. We .... Thississ not a good idea.” She was still struggling to form sentences, but her slurring was better. He whimpered a bit at the rejection, but adjusted his weight so their bodies weren’t quite so close together.

“Why ... er ... why do you think that?” he asked her, very confused, before quickly adding “If you don’t want to, we won’t. I mean, I don’t _need_ a reason, just ... you’re _really_ pretty, and I can’t bear to stop kissing you now.” _God_ , Christine’s thoughts continued struggling, _this fucker is smooth, too._ He leaned down to kiss her shoulder, and she had to push him away again, struggling even harder to choose her words and ensure that they were coherent.

“Believe me, Ben, I would give anything for you to just keep kissing me. And, oh, you’re good at it. Very good, I’d say. Like, exceptionally good. And your body ... that’s all very nice too.” She couldn’t stop herself from running her fingertips down his warm back. _Control yourself, Christine. Don’t be selfish._ “But,” she sighed, pulling her hands away. “This is a very bad idea. I’m twenty-three. You’re, what? Forty? Or approaching it? Oh God, just saying it aloud is bad. I couldn’t bare to put your image in jep ... jepidy? No, that’s not the word. Uhm, I mean, I just couldn’t fuck it up for you like that.” She sighed again. _Typical, typical, Christine._ Her thoughts were particularly self-loathing. _Find a gorgeous man. Gorgeous, talented man. Hell, gorgeous, talented, and famous. And you have to push him off the bed because of his_ "image" _? Genius of you. Just genius._ Regardless of how stupid she felt she sounded, Ben lifted himself off of her and laid on his side. She turned to face him, immediately very aware of how naked most of her body was. She crossed her arms over her breasts. Either Ben didn’t notice or he didn’t mind.

“I wish you wouldn’t say that,” he admitted, sounding much more clear-headed himself. “But I don’t want you regretting anything in the morning. Especially when it will be _your_ morning to be excited.”

“But it’s you I don’t want regretting anything. I mean, you’re really drunk now, and if people saw us together? I just don’t want you looking back and thinking that you made really poor judgment.” He searched her eyes for a bit, looking a bit surprised.

“Oh, you really think that, don’t you?” He almost seemed saddened by her words. Or maybe he was just really tired. Christine was close to passing out herself. He continued searching her face. She cursed herself for never getting a good look at his eyes when they were in better light. There was just a slight gleam to them now, reflecting the yellow city lights crawling through the window of her hotel room. She could just barely make out his expression, but he seemed to have nothing more to say. It might’ve been the too-many-martinis overwhelming her, but she had to exhale against threatening tears. She really, really liked him, but there was no way this was going to end up well for either of them. Ben was older than her and had a much more extravagant life than her. He had a life much _different_ from hers. She probably wasn’t the only drunken romp he’d had, and maybe not the only one of her age, and though one-night-stands didn’t bother her, she was already too emotionally invested to become just a no-name who he could share momentary pleasure with. This could only end in some regret and hurt feelings. She was just a kid, and he was a truly nice guy. He would see her naïvety and feel that he took advantage of her, and that was something Christine _really_ didn’t want.

He still wasn’t saying anything, just looking tired and confused, so she broke the silence.

“I think I should put some clothes on.” She tried smiling before she sidled out of her bed. He sat up after her as she went into her suitcase to find the pajamas she had packed for the week.

“You know, I honestly do like you.” She paused at the sound of his voice, trying not to pay too much attention to his words. His breath had still reeked of whiskey. His sentences were still slow. They weren’t words she could put faith in. She listened nonetheless. “If that’s what you’re worried about, I do like you. I don’t ... I don’t just do this, if that’s what you’re wondering.” She had no response. She had been very stupid. She told herself not to expect much for the night. She told herself to have a good time. If she was lucky, she’d meet some people. She was more than lucky to meet Benedict Cumberbatch. She was greedy to think of having any more than that. _Idiot._ “I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. It wasn’t ... It was not my intent.” His words were labored. He was too nice for her. Too considerate. What had she expected? Even now, she was giving herself away. She had only known him a few hours. It wasn’t her fault she had admired him for so long before. But she had to be greedy. She was making a fool of herself. _Idiot._ She found the old tshirt she put aside for sleeping and slid it over her naked torso, back still turned to where Ben sat up in her bed. She didn’t want to respond. It was really no use when this likely would all be forgotten in the morning. He was drunk and randy, what did she expect? It was a bad idea from the start. _Idiot. Stupid. Stupid._ “I s’pose you want me to leave?” She pulled on her plaid flannel bottoms and finally turned to look at him, breathing carefully to compose herself. Just politely send him on his way. _He’ll forget in the morning and none of this will have happened_.

“You can sleep here, if you want.” _Fucking idiot._

“Okay.”

He looked at her once more, and opened his mouth to speak, but decided against it. He really did look saddened as he finally laid down stiffly to sleep, realizing there was no more to the conversation. Christine supposed it was just disappointment in not getting a good screw before his big premiere the next day.

Oh.

Oh _God._

The premiere was tomorrow.

Christine suddenly felt very sick.

She walked over to her side of the bed. She turned briefly to the bathroom, contemplating on whether or not she should unfurl the contents of her stomach now or later. She decided to just wait until morning, otherwise she might be up all evening, and she desperately needed a good night’s sleep, however brief it may be. She pulled back the covers, and slid into the bed, keeping a careful distance from Ben. His breathing was already slow and steady. She bent her knees towards her chest and turned out, facing the window. One night among the stars, and she already felt like Pluto. Her planetary status was to be ripped from her soon enough. If she was lucky, Benedict would be so put-off from his night with her that he wouldn’t even attend her film. At least she could afford herself a bit more dignity, or at least a bit less embarrassment. How could she let herself get so carried away?

As she closed her eyes, little flares of city light still dancing against her eyelids, she elected to have her pumpkin spice coffee in the morning, if she could stomach it, and she also elected to never, ever, _ever_ , start her night with whiskey again.

* * *

_Coming out of my cage and I’ve doing just fine_

_Gotta gotta be down because I want it all_

 

Christine groaned.

_It started out with a kiss, how did it end up like this?_   
_It was only a kiss_   
_It was only a kiss_

She had no clue where the music was coming from, but it had startled her from a surprisingly good dream: By some “misfortune,” TIFF had lost the copy of her film and she had to go home early because no one cared who she was anymore. Okay, it wasn’t a _good_ dream. Christine was very grateful, and she would never want anyone to be mistaken about that. But at the moment it was a good dream, because as soon as she woke up, the sickness of anxiety had hit her like a truck. No, wait, that was the sickness of a hangover. _And where the fuck is that music coming from?_

She didn’t have time to inspect as she hopped out of bed, running to the bathroom where morning-after Hell awaited her. She was surprised to see Ben (still in nothing but boxers) sprawled on the cool tile, his head resting against the edge of the bathtub, asleep. Christine had very little time to be surprised, however, as she gripped the sides of the toilet in agonizing nausea. Her stomach was not happy with her, and Hell, she didn’t blame it. Around her second full upheaval of what felt like the left side of her internal organs, Ben was startled awake. Around her forth upheaval (her body was relentless today), she felt a hand gathering her hair away from her face and holding it gently back as she spewed out whatever was left in her body, and then some. Ben knelt behind her quietly while he held her hair, his other hand stroking her back in comfort. She waited thirty seconds after the last heave, to be safe, and then finally leaned back, taking a very deep breath as she flushed the toilet. Christine felt utterly disgusting. She fell back against the bathtub as Ben handed her a towel and then joined her on the floor.

_Now they’re going to bed_   
_And my stomach is sick_   
_And it’s all in my head_

The music was still playing quietly from the room.

“How do you feel?” she asked, still a little breathless.

“Like shit. That was me maybe an hour ago.” He gestured towards the toilet, which looked quite menacing given the circumstances. “I think I just fell back asleep here.”

“Ah.”

_I just can’t look its killing me_   
_And taking control_

“Where is that damn music coming from?” Christine rubbed her head, wincing.

“Oh, sorry. That’s, uh ... my alarm.” He looked slightly embarrassed, and she couldn’t help but smile at his sheepish demeanor. “Let me go turn it off.” He stood up carefully, and she marveled at him, despite not wanting to, as he towered over her. In the bright light of the bathroom, she could see the lean shape of his body; the curve of muscle, and just around his waist, a tiny bit of fat, which was endearing; hairs that smattered across his chest, covered his legs, trailed down his navel; the light but healthy glow of his skin. She watched as he walked out into the room to rummage through his clothes on the floor, before she closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the tub. Images of the night before floated through her hazy memory. She wished she could remember more. She saw little flashes of things -- Ben’s face buried against her neck, or him explaining the rules of the no-touching game to her in a low whisper when they entered the cab, or his hand sliding the strap of her dress past her shoulder -- but they were just flashes, and unfortunately felt more like bad fantasies than anything that actually happened. She remembered pushing him away, though, and she remembered his face the moment she had to tell him “wait,” more for his sake than hers. Those things she remembered vividly. She felt like such a dolt. She supposed he’d be leaving pretty soon to get ready for his premiere day, and that would be the last she’d be seeing of him. She didn’t even want to think about her own premiere coming up.

She realized the music had been off for a while. She looked up to see him standing in the doorway of the bathroom, dressed hurriedly in his clothes from the night before. He was buttoning up his dress shirt, concentrating on his task without making eye contact with her.

“I should head to my room to shower and get ready for today.”

“Okay,” was all she could think of to say back. He finished the top button, and finally looked down at her. He hesitated a moment, as if he was hoping for her to say more.

“Okay,” he finally replied. He went to the bedroom to find his jacket and coat. Christine decided that, like it or not, she oughta get ready to. After all, the world doesn’t wait just because you decide to be an absolute moron and make things so awkward between yourself and Benedict Cumberbatch that you can’t even stand to look at one another. If only everyone were so lucky.

He returned to the bathroom, perhaps to say goodbye, as she tried standing herself up. He offered Christine a hand, which she took reluctantly. Once she could stand without staggering, he let go of her, and for the first time all morning, their eyes met.

And _there his eyes were_. Blue was too simple a word to describe them, though Christine guessed that was the easiest way to put it. But they were so much more than that. Ice, or maybe the sea, or maybe the sky on a clear summer day, or maybe the scale of a mermaid tail, or the glass you found in the streets by swanky bars. They seemed to be endless. It was a cliché to say she found herself lost in them, but damn it, she was lost in them. He was reading her. Observing her, almost. After an unbearable amount of silence, he seemed to settle on what to say, and Christine braced herself.

“Christine, I want to be quite honest with you. I don’t remember what exactly I might’ve done or said last night, but I am sorry for whatever it was. It was wrong of me. The whole thing was wrong of me. I had ... lost a bit of a handle on myself. I shouldn’t have come home with you, so to speak, and especially not under those circumstances. I’m deeply sorry for all of that.” She tried to take in everything he said without letting her emotions get the best of her. It could’ve been worse, and in fact, she expected it to be. He could’ve said nothing at all and never have spoken to her again. Or, he could’ve said it was a mistake. He purposely avoided those words, and she mentally thanked him for it. She looked down, and nodded. They had some closure now, at least. He’d be on his way.

Except he kept on talking.

“I also want you to know that this was not my intention upon meeting you. I mean, of course I was attracted to you. You just seemed like you were having fun when you were dancing, and I guess I wanted to get to know you because of that. And that was without knowing who you were. But I meant it when I said I wanted to meet you. I think you’re interesting and likely very talented, and I wanted to be able to pick your brain, get to know what was behind a young and artistic mind. My intention was never to sleep with you. Not when you were nameless to me, and not when I knew exactly who you were. And you were right to push me away.” Why was he going on? He made his point. He didn’t want to have sex with her. He was drunk. Things got out of control. This was exactly what she had thought and expected. She didn’t need to hear any more of it.

“Ben, I get it, okay? I’m fine. Perfectly alright. I’m not going to go on blurbing to the paps about how you ‘took advantage’ of me or anything. Now, you really should be getting ready, or you’re going to be late--”

“I’m always late,” he instinctively grabbed her forearm as she tried to push past him. She made a sound of defiance, but he didn’t let go.

“What I’m trying to say is I _like_ you. It wasn’t about sex for me. I think I just got a little mixed up with the drinking. But I really liked talking to you. I wanted to get to know you, and I did a bit, and I’d like to continue getting to know you, if you’ll allow me to.” Christine had no clue how to react. Because she liked him too. Quite more than she wanted to admit. He had been everything she had hoped him to be, and maybe a bit more. But she couldn’t confess to that. She had made enough of a fool of herself.

“Christine, please. Allow me to make a better impression of myself.” Did he really care so much about what she thought of him? “Will you have dinner with me? Tonight, after _Lost City of Z_ premieres? That is, if you even plan to see it. I’m sorry, that was a bit presumptuous ... ”

“No, I’ll be there.” She paused. “And you still plan to see _Of Memory and Sunsets_?” Now he was grinning.

“Yes, of course!” Christine relaxed to his hold, contemplating if saying “yes” would be the best idea, trying to understand her feelings and if a dinner might threaten them, and realizing she would ignore those questions regardless of their answers. “So will you have dinner with me tonight? Just to talk. Promise.” She took a deep breath before answering reluctantly.

“Where exactly did you have in mind?”


	4. Be Calm.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christine talks to her best friend and preps herself for the day to come. A bit of an interlude.

Christine leaned back heavily against the closed door of her room, letting out a cold and anxious breath. It was 7:20a. She didn’t plan to see her first film of the day until 10:10a, but had also hoped to see a special Q&A with Spike Jonze starting at 9:00a. With the way the week was going, perhaps she would take him to her hotel room too. And perhaps the next day she could pursue Anna Kendrick for a wicked tryst of passion! Might as well turn her list of idols into a “To-Do List.” At least she’d come home with some good stories. “Did you know that Spike is a groaner? Lovely man, really.” “Oh yes, Aubrey Plaza is actually very bicurious. Lucky me.” Lucky her. She chuckled at her own ludicrous musings and wondered if she should share her rather eventful night with someone. She needed to shower. _Probably should try to look good for the day_. It was her big day, was it not? Isn’t that what Ben called it? “Her morning?“ At the very least, she could look nice for the inevitable feast with her as the main course. “ _Of Memory and Sunsets_ , or, Why This Critic Should Never Have Expected Much In The First Place” by A.O. Scott.

God, her thoughts were dreary that morning.

She might as well call Ellen.

She stood by the coffeemaker, iPhone to her ear as the smell of pumpkin filled the room and calmed her jitters. Her stomach was considerably settled since her embarrassing hurl-fest thirty minutes prior. Caffeine probably wasn’t the best idea, but it couldn’t make her feel worse than she already did. At least it was a piece of home. The other line continued ringing.

“Fuck. C’mon Elle, pick up,” she prayed to herself, closing her eyes in frustration.

“Hello?”

“Ellen! Oh, thank God. I was worried you weren’t going to pick up ....” She let out a breath of relief and watched as the coffee slowly streamed into her mug.

“Chrissy, what’s wrong ...?” Ellen sounded concerned about Christine’s urgency. “Is it about the film? Because you know it’s going to be brilliant. Dear, just try to relax a little --”

“Oh my God, _no_ , don’t even bring that up. That’s not even the heaviest thing on my mind right now.”

“Well Jesus, what happened then? Are you okay?” Christine sighed yet again. She was making a habit out of it. She supposed out of all the things to be worrying her, this matter was rather trivial. At any rate, she had to tell someone about her idiotic feelings, and who better than her best friend?

“Uh ... okay. Well, guess who I brought back to my room last night?” She heard a scoff from Ellen’s end.

“Seriously? That’s it?”

“Guess.”

“Shit, I dunno. Did you actually take someone back with you?” Ellen giggled. “That’s awesome.”

“Yes, shut up and just guess.”

“Ouch, hostile. Well, I don’t know!” She thought for a moment. “Was it your _dream lover_ Benedict Cumberbatch?" She laughed again at the ridiculousness of the thought. Christine just smirked to herself. “But seriously, I have no clue. Some writer or someone?”

“Well, you’re right.”

“Really? Well, that’s great, I guess. Did you at least make a good business connection?” There was innuendo in the question. “What was his name?”

“No, _that’s_ not right. Your first answer was right.” As mortified as Christine was feeling, she couldn’t help but feel smug satisfaction in the inevitable reaction she’d receive once Ellen put two and two together.

“My first answer?”  

“Yes."

“What are you talking about?” There was a moment of thought.

“Wait,” And then the moment of realization.

“ _Noooooo._ ” And then the moment of denial.

“Yep.” Christine grabbed her full mug and blew across the surface coolly.

“No! Oh my fucking God, you’re lying.” The disbelief in Ellen’s voice was becoming quite amusing.

“He just left, actually.”

“Tell me you’re lying. You’re lying! Say his name if you’re not lying.”

“Benedict. Cumberbatch.” She drew out the syllables of his name. There was a silence.

“Holy _shit._ ” Ellen finally conceded. Christine took a hesitant sip of the coffee. Nope. Too hot to drink still. She pressed the tip of her tongue to cool the burn. “Holy shit.” Ellen repeated.

“I didn’t sleep with him, though.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I didn’t sleep with him, in the biblical sense,” Christine replied matter-of-factly.

“Okay, now you’re lying.”

“Well, we kissed a lot. I think.”

“You think?”

“... I was drunk.” She admitted.

“Jesus, Chrissy.” She started to wince as she thought about the night prior once again. She stopped herself from thinking more about the awkward way things ended and switched to thinking about the lovely way it all started.

“He kisses good,” she said dreamily. “I mean, he kisses _well_. Nice. I mean ... I don’t know.”

“What happened?”

“Ugh, I don’t know.” She walked her mug of coffee to the table where he laptop currently sat. She opened it, contemplating exactly what she wanted to do. “I guess I changed my mind. I dunno. I was stupid. I told him ‘no.’”

“Oh,” was all Ellen could say. Christine went to her browser, and slowly started to type in ‘Benedict Cumberbatch girlfriend,’ before deleting the entire line.

“Yep.” She punctuated the ‘p.’

“Uhm, was it okay? I mean, he didn’t ... did he?” Her friend had a hard time broaching her subject of concern. Always worrying, Ellen was. As exhausting as it had become, Christine was relieved to have a friend who cared so much about her well-being. It often prevented her from doing particularly idiotic or dangerous things, and ultimately made her feel loved and secure.

“Oh, God no. He didn’t even argue about it. He was a perfect gentleman. Even held my hair back as I puked my guts out this morning.”

“Aw.”

“Shut up.”

“No, it’s cute.” Christine rolled her eyes, though her gesture was lost over the phone. She checked the time. 7:35.

“Elle, I gotta hop in the shower soon.”

“Okay .... Well, is that it?”

“What do you mean?” Christine walked into the bathroom and inspected herself in the mirror, determining whether or not she’d _need_ a shower, or if she could just skip to clothes and makeup.

“Well,” Ellen started with a tone Christine couldn’t quite place. Hope, maybe? “So you didn’t have sex with him. But he slept over? I’m guessing whatever it was isn’t entirely over between you two.”

“He did invite me to dinner tonight ....” The reminder caused an extra dose of anxiety to inflict itself heavy on Christine’s mind. _Dinner??_ Christ. She’d have to see if she had time after her movie to possibly change.

Oh, right.

Her movie.

How did she keep forgetting that?

“Well that’s promising.” Yep, that was definitely hope in Ellen’s voice. At least someone was thinking positively. Christine lifted her arm and, giving her armpit a decent sniff, decided that a shower was definitely in order.

“That’s debatable.”

“Why are you being so negative about this?” She walked back to her laptop, slumping into the seat with a heavy ‘oof!’

“I dunno. He’s going to see my movie today, which is already weird and risky. And last night was awkward and I’m just such a complete nimrod that I can’t even imagine talking to this guy, let alone anything else. I think it’s pretty DOA.” She tapped her keyboard without pressing anything. She wanted to look something up, but still wasn’t sure what.

“Look, I know I’m not going to convince you of anything, so I’m going to leave it alone. Just keep me updated, okay? Anyway, it shouldn’t even be on your mind right now! Aren’t you excited?” Christine grunted primitively. “You’re impossible. Go shower. Text me through the day. You know I’m here to keep ya afloat.”

“I know, I know. Thank you. I really do appreciate it, even if I don’t sound it.”

“I know. Good luck, love. You’ll be glorious.” Christine smiled against her anxiety. Even if she didn’t quite feel the same as Ellen, the sentiment made her feel better anyway.

“Thank you, dear. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye! Love you.”

“Love you too.” After hanging up, she let her head fall back against her shoulders. She was just starting to feel numb at this point. Everything had become so surreal, and she had no clue what to do with herself but just bare her teeth through it. Deciding she should kick her ass into gear, she took a deep breath and sat upright again. She turned on some upbeat music (a bit of Fun. should do the trick).

_As I walk through the streets of my new city_  
 _My back feeling much better, I suppose_

Rocking a bit in her seat to the music, Christine tried motivating herself. She took a generous gulp of her pumpkin spice brew, thinking positively that it should help kickstart her morning.

She made a beeline straight to the sad bowl of white porcelain.

This was definitely not her morning.

_And be calm_  
 _Be calm_  
 _I know you feel like you are breaking down_

Once she managed to spend an additional ten minutes at the toilet (part puking, part waiting to see if she would had to puke again), she stripped herself of her pjs and took a record-breakingly fast shower. She wanted to spend her whole day under the hot water, swallowed up into the shower head and turned into steam. Instead, she had regrettably turned the water off, and stepped out into the cool air of the bathroom. She took a moment for herself before wrapping her body up in a towel. She approached the mirror, thoughts sprinting through her head about what Ellen had said.

**_“I’m guessing whatever it was isn’t entirely over between you two.”_ **

So, what was it? Christine wanted to bang her head against the counter, but didn’t, for obvious reasons (mostly because stitches probably wouldn’t match the dress she had set aside for the day). The better question was probably what was it that Christine wanted it to be? She thought back to the very first time she had seen him in anything. While everyone else had been well on their way to loving him through Sherlock, the first of his work Christine had seen him in was _Frankenstein_ , which she only found herself seeing because of her mother’s interest in Jonny Lee Miller. However, when they both exited from Ben’s award-worthy performance as The Creature, they were impressed and interested. Christine and her mother had worked their way through Sherlock on Netflix in time for when series 3 had premiered, and she had taken it upon herself to watch as much of his other work as possible. It was easy to say she was attracted to him because of his looks and presence on screen, or because he seemed so impressively kind and polite off-screen, or simply because he was rich and talented and famous, but -- though those qualities certainly didn’t detract from her interest -- those weren’t the reasons. Plain and simple, she was drawn to him because of his passion for his work. God, yes, she loved to look at him. But more-so, she loved to watch him; loved to hear him talk about what he does. As someone who has always been driven to be a part of that world, and who has always been driven by passion and work ethic and intensity, Christine utterly adored how the man looked at his job, and how he considered acting. It was methodical, natural, evolving, and very, very much full of love. For years she didn’t want to just meet him, she wanted to _be_ him. Though it might be strange thing coming from an American woman half his age, it was the truth. He was a symbol of all Christine wanted to become, through her work and success to the more frivolous aspects such as fame and desirability.

So what was it Christine wanted? Or better yet, what was she afraid of by seeing him that night? She settled that perhaps it was best to remove her emotions from the situation, and look at it entirely professionally: She was a young writer and director who had already made a connection with one of those most brilliant actors (and _producers_ ) in the business, and would be having dinner with him that night. From the professional standpoint, this could become a very fortuitous endeavor. So she decided to keep it that way. She was right in what she said the night before: She was too young for them to have anything romantic/sexual. But a professional relationship? There was absolutely no harm in that. He seemed interested in her work, anyway.

So it was, and so it would be: Professional. Nothing but professional. Strictly business. With any luck, it could lead to something more. Professionally, of course. Nothing beyond that.

_I don’t remember much that night,_  
 _Just walking thinking fondly of you_  
 _Thinking how the worst is yet to come_

Christine looked at her reflection with stern determination and made the deal, almost as if she was mentally shaking hands with herself.

It was that moment, looking closely in the mirror, that she realized what she needed to Google.

“How to cover up a hickey”

 

_Be Calm. Be Calm._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is "Be Calm" by Fun.
> 
> Sorry this chapter was short and with less going on. I promise another update tomorrow, so stay tuned! :)


	5. Three Texts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of the big premiere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never been fortunate enough to attend TIFF myself, so I base some of the events based on some things I know, and some of my own imaginings. I apologize if it isn't entirely accurate, but I hope the story is enjoyable nonetheless!

Christine didn’t update Ellen as frequently as she had intended. She had expected to shoot a text at least every hour or so, and maybe have a full conversation during lunch. After all, throughout all the madness she had ever gone through in her life, Christine always had Ellen there to ground her. And when Christine pulled her dress for the day off its hanger with shaky, sweaty hands, it was very clear she needed to be grounded. However, in spite of her intentions, Christine only sent her friend three simple messages all day:

1) _**Spike Jonze is pretty cool**_

 

2) _**Here goes nothing**_

 

3) _**Can you get red wine out of a silk tie?**_

 

* * *

  
_1) **Spike Jonze is pretty cool**_

It wasn’t until just before leaving her hotel room that Christine got a real good look at herself. Perhaps it was careless of her, considering what an important day it was, but she was far too mentally preoccupied to pay attention to her appearance, despite working on it all morning.

It might’ve been the first good sign all day, because she looked ... beautiful.

The daytime events for these festivals were typically fairly casual, so she hadn’t thrown on too extravagant of an ensemble. She did bare in mind, though, that this was going to be her first real impression on all of those big, glamourous people, and it might not kill her to dress it up a bit. Keeping with her lifelong affinity for wearing dresses, she had set aside a tiny floral one she picked up during her last minute shopping spree. It had a sweatheart neckline that just capped off the shoulders, leaving an exquisite view of her collarbones that made Christine even blush to look at. The dress also scooped in the back, framing the warm, freckled skin across her spine. She felt just plain pretty in the flowy fabric, and the sweet pink flowers that covered her petite frame left her with a glowing positivity that was impossible to ignore. She had curled her shoulder length hair just enough to give it a slight wave, and pulled back the chestnut locks into a high and tight ponytail. Christine had never taken to wearing loads of makeup, so she settled for a dull pink on her lids with a brown in the crease and lining her long lashes, giving the olive green orbs a nice frame while still softening her features. She also allowed herself a bit of blush, and a gloss that made her look positively pouty. She finished off her look with a pair of knitted tights (the September weather was far too chilly to go without) and boots with a comfortable heel. Finally looking in the mirror, Christine had felt feminine, humble, glowing, and gorgeous. She was the perfect image of understated, yet stunning; simple, yet head-turning. Ultimately, she felt comfortable in her own skin, which was of the utmost important that day. She smiled shyly at her own reflection, and maybe even, just for a moment, thought _Yeah, I can do this._ And that was just the moment she needed before throwing on her coat and heading out the door.

She wondered whether she should take a cab or just take the car she drove to Toronto in. Though a cab might be useful in the event she might have one drink too many again, she realized that was the exact situation she wanted to avoid, and unlocked her blue Prius.

It was only 8:30a when she arrived at the Bell Lightbox. She sat in her car to pass some time, and for the first time in what felt like ever, she allowed herself to think about the premiere. Leaning back into the cloth material of her seat, she mentally walked herself through the plan: _Arrive at 5:45p, NO LATER than 6p. There should be a festival programmer there to help me get situated. I speak briefly at the beginning about the film’s backstory. Everyone watches it. Everyone likes it?_ That was the plan at least. _I do a Q &A as one of their young director spotlights. If I’m still somehow in tact by the end of it, I carry on with my evening just like any other human being._ It seemed easy enough. She wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted to say to set up the movie, but she decided to figure that out during lunch. She squeezed the wheel a bit to keep her nerves in check (for now, at least), and taking the first of many deep breaths scheduled for the day, opened her car door and headed to the first event.

* * *

 

Spike Jonze _was_ pretty fucking cool. Christine had always liked his work, but she had become practically obsessed with him since she had seen _Her_ back in ’13. She could recall a particularly embarrassing fan letter she wrote (though she never sent it, thank God) where she said something to the extent of: “It’s like you took a bit of my soul and made your script into a horcrux, forever baring my most intimate thoughts and feelings. You took my heart and played it to the sounds of Scarlett Johansson’s voice. You took my livelihood, slapped a mustache on it, and called it Joaquin Phoenix, and for that, I am forever grateful.” To her credit, she had drank a bit too much cough syrup for a particularly nasty cold she came down with two days after seeing the movie. She could not be held responsible for the absurd things coming out of her mouth (or being written by her pen). And to think, the same woman who compared a screenplay to a horcrux had penned her own screenplay that made it to TIFF? Now _that_ was hilarious.

However, though the extent of her obsession had become less ridiculous, she had still fallen in love with the man and his work. She loved how carefully thought out each of his films and scripts were. It was certainly something she strived to achieve herself.

She had gotten to see his Q&A, which was a dream in itself. His newest film wasn’t premiering until the next day, but he was being specially honored by the festival and was therefore granted time to do his own panel. Christine filed in amongst an audience of festival attendees and a few filmmakers. There were a few things she wanted to ask him, but by the time the questions really started rolling, she elected to leave the inquiring to other audience members. She was much more interested in listening, and she always found other people could have a more intelligent line of inquiries than her. Spike had talked about his music video experiences (with a funny story or two about working with Arcade Fire), answered some questions about _Her_ and where his personal connection to the film came from, and then spent a long time talking about his upcoming movie and what was to be expected, where inspiration derived from, why he felt this story needed to be told, etc. In a way, listening to him talk about filmmaking made her feel more secure about her own project. For the second time that week, Christine was reminded that these were people’s jobs, and a lot of love and passion went into their work. While she couldn’t say if her film itself was successful, she did know she was a person brimming with love and passion, and in that way, she was starting to finally feel successful herself.

What she hadn’t expected was to personally meet Spike. She considered introducing herself after the event, but upon seeing the swarm of fest attendees running to greet him, she decided not to waste his time and to just head on out. It was when she was entering the theatre for her first film showing of the day (a French romance starring Marion Cotillard), she found out that, coincidentally, so was Mr. Jonze. Not being able to contain her inner fangirl, she politely tried to draw his attention.

“Mr. Jonze?” He turned towards her, a little surprised by her formality.

“Hi.” He approached Christine.

“Er, I just saw your Q&A, and just wanted to say I’m a big fan.” _Oh God, please don’t mention how Her had bits of your soul in it._ “I thought your film _Her_ was very ... profound,” _That’ll do._ “and it really spoke to me as a viewer as well as a fellow filmmaker.” _Not bad, Christine, not bad at all._ Spike had smiled humbly, offering a quiet “Thank you.” Realizing it wouldn’t be the worst time to make a connection, she stuck out her hand. “I’m sorry, I should properly introduce myself. Christine Scott.” He shook it, smiling, but look a little perplexed. He clearly wasn’t sure of who she was. “This is the first time I’ve brought a film here, or to any festival for that matter. I wrote and directed _Of Memory and Sunsets,_ if you’ve heard of it. Premieres at about six today. Sorry to shamelessly self-promote, but how often do you have the chance to in your lifetime?” She feigned confidence, and he seemed to be charmed by her, smiling much more genuinely now.

“Not as often as you’d want to, usually,” he replied with a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I’ve heard about your movie. I apologize, it just took me second to recognize that name.”

“It’s alright, I’m still kind of nobody.”

“Not according to the buzz I’ve been hearing.” Christine blushed at that. “But hey, I’m glad to hear your a fan. It’s nice to know that people actually give a shit about what I have to say, y’know?”

“Oh trust me, I get it. The whole notion that anyone is interested in my movie baffles me completely.”

“You’ll get used to it, eventually. I doubt this will be your last time in that position.” In spite of his kindness, the cynical side of Christine couldn’t help but think _Don’t make any bold statements yet._ She quickly brushed the thought aside.

“Well, sorry if this is weird to ask, but could I get a picture with you? At least for the folks back home. They’re dying to know what ‘this world’ is like.” He laughed ( _Am I actually making Spike Jonze laugh??_ ) and agreed, and that was when Christine sent her first message to Ellen, attached to a blurry selfie of her and Spike Jonze hamming it up at TIFF.

* * *

  
_2) **Here goes nothing**_

Amazingly enough, Christine found herself sitting next to Spike for the entire film, and they swapped email addresses afterwards in case she ever wanted to get in touch with him for advice or ideas. There was also a chance he might be seeing her film, though he was unsure if his schedule allowed it. She didn’t mind much if he didn’t. The opportunity to hang out with him for a bit was way too cool to complain.

Christine had seen two other films before settling for a late lunch: A family comedy starring Rooney Mara and Carey Mulligan as sisters (which Christine would give a confident thumbs up) and a documentary on the classic MGM musical and the evolution Broadway started seeing in the mid 20th century (interesting premise, but in the end it was a lot of general facts without any real point or heart, unfortunately). Once she had successfully made it through the second film without passing out, she decided it was time to get some food into her system. She thanked herself for taking her car instead of a cab, and drove around the area looking for a good restaurant. Being at TIFF, she supposed it was expected of her to go to some fancy expensive café that sold gourmet sandwiches at $20 a serving, or for her to head out to a nice bar with a few of her new filmmaker friends (which, for the record, she only had one of, if you could even call Spike that). However, she had missed breakfast, and she wanted some alone time, and she didn’t really feel the need to spend loads of money, nor did she have the means to do so. She settled for a nice diner off of the highway and ordered the biggest brunch she could manage. She supposed then would’ve been a good time to strike up more in-depth conversation with Ellen, but ... well ... those were some of the best damn pancakes Christine had had in her entire life. And don’t even get started on the omelette. And the sausage? _Ugh, yes._ She was having too vigorous of a therapeutic food-gasm to think of anything else. She spent about an hour slowly decimating her feast, glancing in between bites at whatever daytime television was playing above the counter. It was close to 3:30p by the time she swallowed her last fork of hashbrowns and requested a final cup of coffee (which she was stomaching much better now) and her check. Her premiere was getting closer and closer, and she was seeing another short movie between now and then, which would only make the time pass quicker. She had a few moments before the check arrived, and took them entirely for herself. There was something very lovely about being able to take yourself to a nice meal without needing to worry about conversation or places to be. That was exactly why her prospective dinner with Ben was only causing further anxiety.

She swallowed down what remained of her bitter drink, along with her equally bitter cynicism. She gathered her things and left a generous tip before driving back to the Lightbox, mentally preparing her introduction the whole way there.

* * *

  
The last movie she saw was good. She thinks. Christine really didn’t know, to be quite honest. She wasn’t all there to remember it. Her mind was turning and twisting along with her stomach (oh yeah, and she might’ve eaten a bit too much as well). She was going through phases of utter optimism; _I’m at my first fucking film festival! Wow. This is happening. I did this._ I _did this. This movie I’m watching is awesome. I’m awesome. Totally awesome. In fact, one of the most awesome people ever. This is going to be so_ awesome; and complete unadulterated self-loathing; _What the fuck am I doing. What the fuck am I thinking. Who am I kidding. This will go miserably. Benedict will be there. Spike Jonze might be there. I’m just some kid playing pretend. I suck. This sucks. The movie I’m watching sucks. Why does Michael Cera keep getting cast in things? I hate everything. Absolutely everything. In fact, I might just hate everything ever. This is going to be so_ awful.

It was doing quite a number on her mental health, and it was a wonder that she didn’t die of cardiac arrest right there in her seat. She shuffled her feet out of the theater, trying to look inconspicuous. She made her way to the venue for her film (the same theater _Lost City of Z_ would be premiering in immediately after. Fantastic). She had even more of a panic attack when she didn’t find the event programmer right away. Luckily he had found her lurking in the back corner and excitedly introduced himself as “Ted!” who would “be assisting you throughout your event, Miss Scott.” After shaking her hand, he led her to the very front of the theater, where there was a small area blocked off between her platform and the audience. They checked the microphones quickly before opening house for the attendees. Christine’s heart practically dove into her stomach, if not her intestines and kidneys and pouring right out of her body -- because that was how fucking nervous she was. She saw a few familiar faces get specially welcomed in. Some of the rumors had been true -- Anna Kendrick and Scarlett Johansson had both walked in fairly early, eagerly sitting in the front row -- some rumors were false -- someone had told her Joseph Gordon-Levitt might go, which, to Christine’s relief, was not true -- and some viewers were expected -- A.O. Scott came in and sat a few rows back. It turned out that Spike hadn’t been able to make it, which was a-okay with Christine. For a while, it seemed like Benedict wasn’t coming either, and Christine wasn’t sure if she was relieved about it or disappointed. However, just a minute before her introduction was set to start, he snuck in, politely greeted a few friends, and found his way.

Front row. Center. Of course.

He smiled and gave a little wave to Christine, who stood uncomfortably to the side of the platform. She didn’t have a chance to wave back as Ted had just started to speak. As he began to welcome the audience members, she remembered Ellen and her concern for Christine, and quickly shot her the hasty “ ** _Here goes nothing._** ” It was only moments later, to the sound of her name followed by some eager applause, that Christine took one very, very deep breath, stepped onto the platform, took the microphone from Ted, and smiled before finally speaking.

* * *

  
_3) **Can you get red wine out of a silk tie?**_

“She will be having the Roasted Muscovy Duck Breast, and I will be having the New York Striploin, along with two glasses of your Masi Riserva Di Costasera, to start out with, please. And for dessert, we’ll split the ... Warm Chocolate Cake. Does that sound good, Christine?”

“Heavenly.” She almost moaned while reading the menu. _Maple cherry crunch, hazelnut marzipan, and cherry chocolate sorbet._ Yes, she’d look forward to that.

“I will be back as soon as I can with your wine, and I’ll put in your order right away, Mr. Cumberbatch.”

“Thank you. And no rush on any of that. We’ve got all night, haven’t we?” He offered a friendly grin to Christine who tried to return it back, but did so weakly. The waiter trotted off in the direction of the kitchen, leaving her and Benedict alone at their table with a very unsure feeling in Christine’s stomach.

They hadn’t talked about the films yet. Either of theirs. And Christine was afraid it was going to be a very long night.

Her worries were only further confirmed when, upon being served their fancy (and expensive) wine, Benedict offered a toast, and Christine (God bless her) -- in her nervous and anxious glory -- moved her glass a bit too fast, resulting in her sending her last text of the night to Ellen while Benedict cleaned up his shirt and tie in the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the wonderful and positive feedback! I've really enjoyed writing this story and cannot wait to continue updating.
> 
> The restaurant that Christine and Benedict go to is called "Woods" in Toronto. While I've never been, I found it in my research and the menu sounded utterly fantastic.
> 
> Here is what Christine's daytime dress looked like, for reference:  
> [](http://s1016.photobucket.com/user/tgmtnait/media/Screenshot2014-02-02at124454AM_zps4a068337.png.html)[](http://s1016.photobucket.com/user/tgmtnait/media/Screenshot2014-02-02at124501AM_zps6f74a2e5.png.html)


	6. Maybe We Started This Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben and Christine's dinner together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO so sorry about the delay on this chapter! I had midterms the past couple of weeks, so things have been hectic. My schedule should be freeing up so I hope to update regularly again. :)

Christine couldn’t even bear to look at him by the time he returned from the restroom. Ten minutes after arriving at the restaurant, and everything had already gone to shit-- which was a shame, really, because everything else that night had surprisingly gone quite well.

She wasn’t used to audiences clapping after movies. Stage productions? Of course. She had worked on several productions throughout her life and was no stranger to the sound of applause. The roar had never failed to put a giant grin on her face whenever it followed the stage production she had directed months prior. It was extremely gratifying to hear people respond so positively to something she had created. The response was something she would never get sick of. However, she knew films were a much different ballgame, and hadn’t really considered that applause might even be a part of it.

There wasn’t just applause; there was a standing ovation.

Christine took the reaction with a grain of salt, knowing that the response would be generous considering it was her inaugural film. But in the moment, she was perfectly fine feeling her ego swell with pride and love for what she had just presented (which was considerably better than she had been giving herself credit for). Ben was amongst the first to stand up, beaming up at her from the front row, before hurrying off to get washed up for his own premiere. There was something very lovely about him looking so proud of her, even though she hadn’t really known him for that long. Of course, Christine couldn’t deny that they had obviously made some sort of connection; a strong enough one to get them into bed together, and a strong enough one to get them past that without residual awkwardness. She wasn’t sure if his enthusiastic applause was out of politeness and encouragement, or out of genuine enjoyment, but she accepted it with a slight flutter in her heart, and let the feeling carry her through the remainder of her evening until she saw him again. It’s no secret that Christine struggled with self-esteem, and therefore to have this moment, which was certainly _her_ moment, was a very good thing for her. In fact, it might have been the start of a series of good things for her. But she wouldn’t know that for a while. Those sorts of things take time.

Ben’s film was nothing short of fabulous. He had done it yet again. Was it surprising? Of course not. But somehow, though his quality of work never took anyone by surprise, it was difficult to watch his performances and not still be remarkably impressed by the caliber of talent he could exhibit. Christine told herself that if they did manage to maintain a friendship beyond that week, she should try to get him involved in one of her works. Now _that_ would certainly be a boost for her career.

They had agreed to meet for a late dinner 45 minutes following _The Lost City of Z_ , giving them time to change and decompress from their eventful days. Christine had offered to drive, since she had her car, and cabs were expensive, and she was more natural at right-side driving than he was. It didn’t take her long to get ready -- she practically ripped her day clothes off before hurriedly slipping on a sexy lacy number -- and she spent the remainder of her time sitting in her room’s comfy chair, desperately trying to get her nerves in check. She had been nervous most of the day, but it was a different type of nervous. Professional nervousness was never pleasant, but it was something she could deal with. As business always had come first for her, it was not so difficult for Christine to put herself out there in professional settings. Did it sicken her and fill her with anxiety? Fuck, yes. But it was a sickness she could get past, and to an extent, always liked. She never felt successful unless she was pushing herself to her boundaries, and then some.

Her social life was a completely different story. _That --_ she absolutely hated, and would rather avoid dealing with all-together. Business anxiety was a necessary evil. Friendship and romantic anxiety was unnecessary and sickening and vulnerable. And as much as she tried to ease her way into situations, as much as she prepared herself, and as many times as she went through dates, parties, and other social occasions, she could not stop herself from dreading every event and thinking it’d be better to just become a hermit who stays single forever and sticks to animals and is one of those powerful businesswomen who seems unconcerned with relationships. That wasn’t true (in fact, Christine cared about friendships and relationships much more than she’d ever admit), but she always thought that’d be the best way to live.

But life wasn’t so generous, so Christine sat in her chair for a good half hour, picking at her cuticles and biting her nails and resisting the urge to cancel the plans she dreaded, because ultimately she knew she’d hate herself more for canceling than she’d hate herself for forcing herself to go out with Ben. Although standing-up a famous celebrity would certainly be a unique story, it’s not a reputation she wanted to have follow her.

* * *

  
“I am _so_ sorry about that!” she exclaimed for about the fiftieth time as he rolled up his tie, placing it carefully in his jacket pocket.

“Don’t worry about it, really. Shit happens. To me especially often, so I really don’t blame you nor think less of you for it.” Ben flashed her the most charming grin Christine has ever seen in her life. She may have died a little. Just a little. _Keep it together, Christine. Professional relationship, remember?_ She managed to get past her sheepishness enough to look him in the eyes, and her gaze was returned with a look of warmth. He really wasn’t embarrassed by her. If anything, he looked really happy to be there. Christine laughed nervously. Her anxiousness was not lost on him. “Truly, there’s no need to be worried. Am I really that terrifying?” She laughed again.

“No, not _that_ terrifying. But terrifying, yes. Admittedly, it seemed much less daunting to talk to you when I was heavily under the influence of alcohol. I mean, really really heavily. Almost blindingly drunk.” _Oh God, stop rambling._

“Well, if we’re being honest, I’m much more daunted now than last night, as well.” He looked down at his lap briefly. Was he being ... bashful?

“Then we’re on the same page. Sober and scared shitless.”

“Ah, but not for long.” With a cheeky smile, he raised his glass to her.

“Are you sure you want to try toasting again? Not that I have problems with you possibly having to remove your shirt, but the restaurant might.” And he laughed. A real, honest laugh. Christine was making him laugh. She was flirting and he was laughing.

“I have full confidence in you.” He stopped just before their glasses met. “And well worth the risk.” He clinked her glass, and then took a sip. Christine followed suit. She didn’t splash a single drop beyond those that fell past her rosy rips.

The evening was full of surprises for Christine. She was primarily surprised by how twice in one day she had managed to go from feeling sicker than she’d felt in her entire life to feeling all her stress melt into self-confidence. There was certainly a common denominator between both occasions, and it was 6’0” with curls hanging just so and a smile just for her. She was surprised by how a simple smile from the right person could be such a sign of relief for her. She was also surprised to hear such praise for her work stumble out of his mouth between bites of ( _fucking fantastic_ ) food.

“I really thought your film was phenomenal.” Christine blushed in spite of herself.

“Well, ... thank you. That means a lot coming from you.” She cut into her duck breast with shaky hands.

“Truly. It was exquisite. I think you have a real eye for it. And it’s very hard to believe that was your first film. It was very well done, touching, humorous, honest ... I think you really captured something, and I hope you get to go very far with it.” Far? She hadn’t even thought about that. It premiered at a fest, but that doesn’t mean distribution. She supposed she needed to consider sending it to more venues, get it noticed by more producers. That was something she wasn’t quite ready to contemplate. “And where did you find that stunning lead actress?”

“Victoria? Isn’t she amazing?”

“Incredibly talented. She carried the whole movie well. Although, your writing of her character did much of the work for her.” Christine felt her cheeks turn even warmer.

“I dunno if that’s true. I just wrote down words. She made a character. She made a human being out of some ideas I had in my head. What you guys do -- actors -- I have so much respect for that. It’s not easy. I wish I could do it, but I’m much more at home behind the scenes.”

“You must have acted before?” He looked at her expectantly.

“Well, of course. Not really since high school, though. Many supporting characters. I always liked it, but never felt passion for it. I could’ve probably gotten into it and done well, but I didn’t see the point in doing that when there were those who loved it and could do better than me. It didn’t seem right or fair.” Ben nodded in polite agreement.

“I can understand that. Well, I’m glad you went into what you did. You’re very good at it. I mean that honestly. I was very impressed, and felt very lucky that I had the chance to meet up with such an insightful director tonight.” Was it possible for cheeks to turn so red? Her heart was skipping beats like a child skipping across a sidewalk. This week had been a whirlwind.

Another thing that had surprised Christine was how Ben was just as bashful as her when it came to accepting compliments.

“While on the subject of talent, well done on _Lost City of Z_.” She tried turning the conversation towards him.

“Oh,” he started, focusing his eyes on his food as if his meal were the true star of the night. “I’m glad you think so. I worked very hard on it, and I am very proud of the work, even if no one else thinks so. It’s nice to hear that it paid off for someone.”

“Certainly paid off for me. I have always been a fan of your acting. I think it’s really brilliant.”

“It’s just my job,” he shrugged off.

“It’s a job that you’re good at,” she assured him. He looked back up at her, and he almost seemed relieved to hear Christine say that.

“Thank you,” he said appreciatively. “Really, thank you for that.” They both smiled at each other, and no words were exchanged for an odd moment.

Christine was surprised by how comfortable silence could pass between the two of them.

They talked about all sorts of things. Possibly things they had talked of before, but they were much more conscious and coherent now. The conversation flowed steadily, from art and politics, to junk food and trash TV, to their histories and their hopeful futures (Benedict seemed particularly interested in hers). They laughed a lot, and smiled a lot, and by the time dessert came around, they were completely comfortable around one another and spoke as old friends.

“Did I mention how stunning you look this evening?” Ben cut his fork into the warm chocolate cake they had ordered. Christine was already relishing in a delicious bite, herself.

“No,” she mumbled, trying to swallow the heavenly food before continuing to speak. “But thank you. I’ll admit, I tried.” She laughed at herself.

“Well, it’s very ... good.” There was his flattery again. And that smooth, seductive low voice that still echoed in her head down to her groin from the night before. Christine scooped some of the cherry sorbet to cool the flush in her cheeks.

“You know what else is good?” She hated herself for changing the topic, “This dessert,” but for some reason that surprised her most, his compliment scared her. She knew she could’ve flirted more, more than she had earlier, which was mostly playful. Christine could’ve possibly directed the conversation to something more intimate, but she didn’t want to. What this was, whatever this was, was nice, and she didn’t want to risk losing that niceness by changing the mood.

If Ben was disappointed, it only showed on his face for a moment before he chuckled and made a sound of agreement.

* * *

 

Christine was driving them both back to the hotel, humming to a playlist on her phone as Ben told her a funny story about him and Michael Fassbender once getting drunk after the Golden Globes and getting food poisoning from a Denny’s they went to at 3 am. _God_ , she couldn’t remember laughing like that in a long time.

They were only about a mile away from the hotel. She stopped drinking well before dessert, so the alcohol was out of her system. Ben, on the other hand, seemed just a little bit tipsy. No where near the state he was in the night they met, but loose and giddy and remarkably charming. He finished his story with a giggle at the memory, and she couldn’t help but smile at seeing so much life flow from him. The conversation lulled. She started to sing to lyrics under her breath;

“ _I was the match and you were the rock_  
 _Maybe we started this fire._ ”

“Are you singing?” He grinned at her.

“Maybe.” She smiled, but immediately stopped singing along.

“Go ahead, don’t be self-conscious. I rather enjoyed it.” She looked at him, searching for signs of teasing, but he was being genuine. She looked back at the road, and cautiously sang along again.

“ _You said we were born with nothing,_  
 _And we sure as hell have nothing now._ ”

“Oh, c’mon, louder!” She scoffed. “You’re among friends.” She looked at him again, incredulously. “Aren’t I a friend?” She didn’t answer, but continued to sing, just a tiny bit louder.

“ _These are the things, the things we lost,_  
 _The things we lost in the fire fire fire._ ”

“There you go! That sounds lovely .... “ He beamed at her, looking a little sleepy. The day had been long, and another long day was to come.

“ _Do you understand that we will never be the same again?_  
 _The future’s in our hands and we will never be the same again._ ”

Christine pulled into the parking lot.

“Would you want to spend the day with me tomorrow? I imagine we’d want to see many of the same things. I could be wrong, though.” Christine leaned back at her seat, and couldn’t help but admire this man she only met approximately 24 hours ago. His smile seemed to brighten up his whole face, as if the warmth and graciousness of his lips were flooding through his whole body. He liked her. She wasn’t sure in what way, and that had scared her all night.

Christine was surprised to find it didn’t scare her now.

She liked him too, and she really wasn’t sure in what way either. And that was fine for her. It was fine for them. She liked being around him, and wasn’t that what mattered?

“I would really enjoy that.” He seemed delighted by her response.

So, she wasn’t sure exactly what was going on between them. Whatever it was was nice, and she was enjoying herself. She didn’t need to know what it was.

_Flames -- they licked the walls_  
 _Tenderly they turned to dust all that I adore._

Did she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song at the end is "The Things We Lost in the Fire" by Bastille
> 
>  
> 
> Christine's dress for the evening :
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://s1016.photobucket.com/user/tgmtnait/media/Screenshot2014-02-21at34721PM_zpsafb33213.png.html)  
> [](http://s1016.photobucket.com/user/tgmtnait/media/Screenshot2014-02-21at34737PM_zps58a65a5b.png.html)  
> [](http://s1016.photobucket.com/user/tgmtnait/media/Screenshot2014-02-21at34749PM_zpsf6516d7f.png.html)  
> 


	7. Say it to Me Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The festival reaches its close, and it isn't long before Christine must make the long drive home. But first, some goodbyes must be said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets a bit angsty ... in fact, it was hard for me not to feel what Christine was feeling while writing it! I hope you enjoy and that you keep on reading. I love all the support <3

_Toronto. International. Film Festival._  
It was the best week of Christine’s life, and it was over far too soon.

She had spent the next day with Benedict, as promised. And the day after that. And the day after that. You could even say they ended up spending most of the week together. They’d meet for breakfast in the morning, see various films all afternoon, and then go out for dinner or drinks or parties each night. She supposed it wasn’t an unusual lifestyle for Ben, but it was very, very different for Christine, and it was _amazing._

Fortunately enough, Ben had a break between projects so he was able to stay for the entire week of the festival. Christine got the gist that he might’ve not planned to do so initially, but for whatever reason he stayed the entire time. It was nothing but a whirlwind of good movies, bad movies, good food, and good company. She met more people throughout the week, and even got to hang out with some of them. In fact, Christine’s penultimate night at TIFF was spent at a sports bar downtown doing shots with Michael Fassbender, Ridley Scott, and James McAvoy. She was also pretty sure some drunk karaoke was involved -- not that she had any memory of it (she was remarkably shitfaced), but because she had a crappy iPhone video that Michael had forwarded of her and Ben singing a pitchy duet of “Africa” by Toto.

Oh yeah, Christine was leaving with some very famous phone numbers in her contact list, too.

It was terribly surreal and unfathomable. Ahe was afraid to even share with her friends back home her various adventures while in Toronto, fearing that they were too far-fetched to be believed. Regardless, they had happened, and Christine was lucky and blessed and confident and enjoying herself ... and it was all ending very, very, very fast.

* * *

 

Whatever nerves Christine may have had at the beginning of the week were long gone. She was a different person now, and she felt it as she strolled into the closing gala, gold lace hugging the curves of her body, curls falling loosely beside her face, and heels that accentuated her legs, making her presence known. Her lips were deep red, her legs were newly shaved, and in contrast to how the week began, she felt like somebody and would be damn well sure she left feeling that way.

“Christine Elizabeth Scott! You’re quite the sight for sore eyes this evening.” She found Michael at the bar, his smooth, low, voice purring through his bright red beard.

“I regret confiding in you my middle name. That was a secret, you know,” she teased before leaning in for a great hug. They had hit it off quite well ever since Benedict introduced them to one another, and they already felt like old pals. Christine confidently ordered a whiskey and quickly tossed it back like nothing.

“Whoah, easy girl.” He looked at her amused.

“You seen Benedict?” Christine felt like she was on fire, like she could push someone up against the wall and make out with them or kill someone or something. She should probably go for the former.

She still wasn’t exactly sure what the nature of her relationship with Ben had become. Since their drunk fumble their first night of attendance, nothing else “intimate” had occurred between them, though he had taken to kissing her on the cheek each night when they retired to their hotel rooms. And Christine had an overwhelming sense of intuition tell her that maybe it was best that way. He was quite a bit older than her, and lived six time zones away, and was, well, _famous,_ while she was just getting her foot in the door. To form a relationship with him that was anything more than friendship wouldn’t be ideal and wouldn’t likely even be successful. She elected it best to maintain a friendship, because that _could_ prove to be rewarding and successful, even from different continents. They had grown very close very rapidly, and in such little time, Christine felt there were few people whose company she enjoyed as much as his. It was a little silly, and more than a little fairy tale-ish, but it also was real, and that was hardest to deny. But friendship was best, especially when she was fairly certain friendship was all he was looking for.

“Not yet. He’s probably late. Was he supposed to meet you at a certain time ... ?”

“No, no. Was just hoping to see him, that’s all. He was one of the first people I met here, so --”

“You’d like to see him before you leave. I understand that. You two have been awfully ... inseparable ... every time I’ve seen you.” Michael raised an eyebrow at her. “He hasn’t made any promises to you, has he?” Christine almost choked on her second drink.

“What?”

“I just want to make sure he’s not promising you more than he can offer, and I hope you’re not seeking more than the physical. I don’t think it’d be wise for either of you to try for anything more than sex --” Christine almost spat out her drink that time.

“ _What?_ ”

“Are you two not having ... ?”

“No, oh God no.”

“Oh,” Michael almost looked relieved. “Well that’s good. Well, I don’t mean good, but ... I’d hate to see either of you end up in a less than ideal situation.”

“Michael, I assure you, Ben and I are just friends, and I’m well aware that’s as far as it should go.” She had to stop herself from giggling. Had Michael actually thought her and Ben were hooking up this whole time?

“Well, then, I wouldn’t be offending anyone asking you to dance, would I?” And there came that classic Fassbender charm Christine had so often heard about. And dammit, who was she to resist it?

“Nope, no one. Least of all me.” And ... did she wink at him? Oh, this week had changed her indeed. At least temporarily. Honestly, she was fairly certain she’d return to her meek anxious self once back in her snuggly apartment in Chicago. There, she was one amongst a million. But right then, as she swung into the arms of Michael Fassbender, swaying beneath the dazzling lights of importance, waving to new connections, and celebrating her one accomplishment’s legacy, she was amongst the one-in-a-millions. She was someone entirely different than who she was, and it was a special feeling that was sure could only last for so long. So, she made like Cinderella and danced with a prince before her pumpkin awaited her.

Michael was very sure of his movements, as well as sure of how he handled her body. Christine didn’t find this very surprising, but it still made her heart skip a beat to see him look down at her the way he did. Her friendship with Benedict she had to preserve, because it had progressed into something so special so fast that she didn’t want to push it to, as Michael had phrased it, a “less than idea situation.”

But she had nothing to lose with Michael. She had only met him comparatively recently, and there wasn’t much to their connection except that they easily laughed together. And if Christine was reading signs correctly, there was a mutual attraction as well.

She was either going to kiss a man or kill a man tonight, and one option was clearly better than the other. And Michael? He was a _beyond_ ideal candidate. His mind already seemed to be made up about it as she felt his large and secure hands slide down her back, waiting for her to stop them from roaming her body. Just as she was beginning to make up her own mind to go on and let them, fate seemed to make an entirely different decision altogether, because there was Benedict, just on the other side of Michael, looking very, very confused. Confused, and ... ? No. That couldn’t be. Christine pulled away from Michael, who looked confused himself before he turned to see where Christine’s eyes were.

“Oh, Ben! There you are, mate. Been wondering when you’d decide to show up.” Michael clapped a hand on Benedict’s shoulder.

“Sorry to er, interrupt you two --”

“No, no! We were just waiting for you.” Christine wasn’t sure why she became so defensive.

“Oh, well ... alright then.” She realized what it must have looked like, to Ben, the way her and Michael had been dancing. Screw what it had _looked like_ , because what it looked like was what it _was_. And if Benedict hadn’t come for another ten minutes, Christine was sure she would’ve pulled Michael by the tie into some utility closet and gone at it until the janitors told them it was time to go. Now, however, she felt guilty (though she wasn’t entirely sure why), and like she may have lost herself just the tiniest bit.

“Fancy a drink?” Michael looked guilty for some reason, too, but Ben shrugged without noticing and they all headed to the bar. He took a stool next to Christine.

“Ah, now this brings me back,” he declared with exaggerated sentimentality. Christine giggled.

“To what?”

“How could you forget? This is where you and I first conversed, and where we thought it’d be a brilliant idea to get as close to fatally pissed as possible.”

“Of course. How _could_ I forget?” She matched his exaggerated demeanor.

“You both are a couple of loons.” Michael mocked them and took a long swig of the Heineken the bartender just brought him. Christine looked up and realized it was Samantha, the same bartender from the very night Ben and her were just reminiscing. For a moment, she made eye contact with Samantha, who looked back impressed.

“You look familiar,” she joked, cheerfully. “And how was the big premiere?”

“Oh, it was fine.” Christine blushed.

“More like fan-fucking-tastic,” Ben boasted on her behalf. “Standing ovation.”

“Wow!” Samantha looked even more impressed. “And to think I knew you when ...” Christine feigned a quiet laugh. “Well, if you need anything, you know who to call.” Samantha moved onto another patron.

“She’s right, you know.” Benedict looked at Christine reassuringly. “I think a lot of things are going to change for you now. You really made an impression. You’re already presenting yourself differently than you were at the beginning of the week. Be prepared, because I think this might’ve been your break.”

“Really?” Christine could feel her heart swell as part of her began to believe Ben’s kind words, and she felt a slight flutter as he gently grabbed her wrist in support.

“Really.” And he was smiling at her. Christine still could not get over what that smile did for entire outlook on life. It was powerful, kind, and comforting. She couldn’t stand to look at it any longer, in fear that she might start to feel things she had told herself all week that she didn’t feel, couldn’t _possibly_ feel -- so she turned to look at Michael, who shrugged.

“Don’t look at me. I didn’t see it. Your movie could be bloody awful for all I know.” The three of them laughed, and Ben quietly pulled his hand away from Christine’s wrist, causing her to sink just the tiniest bit. Michael noticed and looked at her, but didn’t say any more.

* * *

  
The night had flown by before Christine knew it. She spent most of the time drinking and talking and dancing to upbeat music with both Michael and Ben, though she did make her way around the room and speak to a few other new friends (she even snapped a selfie with Jessica Chastain -- a prized photo she was sure to get framed) and to say goodbye to those she had gotten to know fairly well throughout the festival.

“I feel like I’m at summer camp,” she confided to Ben after inputting Scarlett Johansson’s number into her phone. “It’s been weirdly life changing, and I met all of these people and did all of these cool things, and then I’m just going to go back and go home to everyday life.”

“Promise me you’ll write?” Ben played along.

“ _Every day_ ,” she dramatized. Of course, while he was joking, she was partly serious in what she had said. She wanted to talk to him every day, because he made her confident, and he made her laugh and feel better about everything. Christine wasn’t sure if she was ready to lose that.

However, even with technology being what it is, there is such a thing as international rates, and to just text Benedict daily would quickly rack up charges to her phone bill. She’d have to settle for an occasional phone call. That is, if he even actually called her. She was terribly afraid of that. She hoped this wonderful friendship she felt with him wasn’t one-sided. It can’t have been, right?

Michael left a little before they did, sneaking out with Samantha on his arm, offering Christine and Ben a quick goodbye.

“Benedict, I’ll be seeing you, mate.” They shared a quick half-hug that only men seemed to share, and then he turned to Christine. “It was really bloody wonderful to meet you, Christine Elizabeth Scott. I wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors. And be careful about any promises people make with you, yeah?” She wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by that, but he gave her a stern, concerned look that seemed to be privately for her. She nodded cautiously, and he opened his arms out wide for her, grinning. She returned his smile and wrapped her arms around his strong frame. “With any luck, I’ll be seeing you too.” Michael separated the hug. Christine thought she saw Ben make a face, but if he did, it was gone quickly.

“A girl can only be so lucky.” She winked at Michael again and waved bye to Samantha who was looking very pleased with where her evening was going.

“Back to the hotel?” Ben suggested.

“Yeah .... ” Christine sighed, looking at the room the gala was held in, which was mostly empty at that point. For most of the attendees, this probably didn’t feel like an ending. Christine could feel her heart sinking as she wondered if she’d ever be so fortunate to experience a week like this again. But she knew better than to dwell on her sadness. “It’s time to go,” she finally admitted. Ben offered his arm to her, which she took knowing that she’d eventually have to let it go. They got their coats, and soon enough, they had departed.

* * *

  
They weren’t quite sure how to say goodbye once they reached the Hilton. Did they say adieu in the lobby? At the elevator? Did they walk to one another’s rooms? How does one spend every day with another person and then say goodbye, knowing the likelihood of seeing each other again was slim?

They ended up waiting until they were within the privacy of the elevator to politely bid farewell. It was uncomfortable and a bit contrived, but there seemed to be no easy way to do it. Christine was on the third floor and he was on the fifth, so it wasn’t very long for them to say goodbye before parting. Christine barely even remembered what was said. It was difficult to hear words over the sound of her fantasy world quickly shattering beneath her heels. They awkwardly hugged as she exited the elevator car, trying not to look back at Ben as she left.

When she returned to her room, she did what any normal person in her situation would do: She put on very sad music, and cried her eyes out. Already, "quiet-and-scared Christine" was back as the ordinary reality that awaited her sunk in once again. She kicked her heels off violently and fell against her bed, allowing herself to sob and heave and let out all the feelings she wasn’t quite ready to confront.

The _Once_ soundtrack was a frequent go-to when she needed a solid cry, and at the moment Glen Hansard’s voice was belting passionately from her laptop speakers, egging on her steady flow of emotion.

_I’m scratching at the surface now_  
 _And I’m trying hard to work it out_  
 _So much has gone misunderstood_  
 _This mystery only leads to doubt_

Christine was struggling to breathe against the threatening waves of tears she wanted to fight back. She hated crying, and always felt weak when she did so. But she couldn’t stop herself from letting go.

_And I didn’t understand_  
 _When you reached out to take my hand_

Sometimes, even after being surrounded by happy and supportive people, Christine felt very alone. Especially after being surrounded by happy and supportive people, Christine felt very alone: In that sort of helpless way where you know you’re young and you know life is good to you, but you can’t help but be afraid for the unknown. She felt alone in that sort of heavy, quiet sadness that weights down your heart and feels like suffocating.

_'Cause this is what you’ve waited for_  
 _Your chance to even up the score_

In case she couldn’t feel even more embarrassed and frustrated with herself, she heard a knock at her hotel door. _Shit, I hope I haven’t been crying too loud_ , she cursed at herself. She hastily wiped her face against her arm and stood, straightening out her dress. There was no hiding that she was having a good sob, but she didn’t have to display more evidence than she could help. She laughed remembering her previous "kiss or kill" attitude. It looked like neither would be happening after all.

“Sorry about the noise -- ” but her words stopped in her throat as Benedict loomed over her in the door, looking almost as miserable as she felt.

_So if you have something to say_  
 _Say it to me now_

“I’m sorry to be knocking at your door unannounced .... It just didn’t feel like a proper goodbye.” Christine’s stomach turned.

“Oh,” was all she could muster back.

_Say it to me now_

“Yeah.”

“Well, what’s a proper goodbye then?”

_Say it to me now_

And very quickly, it was nothing but soft hands and Benedict’s lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Christine listens to is "Say it to Me Now" by Glen Hansard. It is part of the "Once" soundtrack
> 
> Christine's dress:  
> [](http://s1016.photobucket.com/user/tgmtnait/media/Square_Neck_Lace_Dress_Gold_1__583161382658610500750_zps62288e7d.jpg.html)[](http://s1016.photobucket.com/user/tgmtnait/media/Square_Neck_Lace_Dress_Gold_4__819461382658611500750_zpsc3df246b.jpg.html)


	8. Next to Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened between Christine and Ben the last night of TIFF, and where Christine finds herself since.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is a quick one! I haven't had tons of time to write, but I wanted to resolve the cliffhanger at least a little bit. Hopefully this will do for now ... sorry for the angst ......

Three months flew by in almost no time at all. Christine had compared her week at TIFF to summer camp, and it was a truer comparison than she had hoped for. Sure, she met loads of people, had loads of great times, left with loads of contacts and loads of experiences, but once she was back home, life returned to normal. “Keep in touch” promises, as typical, were not kept. Memories were cherished, but easily became part of the past. Life was average; the clock struck midnight.

When Christine was fifteen she attended a real summer camp for the first time (it was a math camp, which she finds completely hilarious now). She remembered how her and all her friends had developed crushes throughout the week. Some came into fruition, of course. She even had her own camp fling (Todd Albertson) that resulted in a few clumsy kisses in the elevator of the dorms they were housed in. Christine had supposed, very amusedly, to herself that Benedict might be her Todd Albertson of TIFF. Ben’s kissing was much more assured, though, and their evenings together were much better spent than any camp fling she had ever experienced.

However, Christine forgot how those crushes always ended.

Christine was riding the subway to the North Side with a binder under her arm, trying very hard not to spend more time thinking about her week of paradise. It had become very hard when life chose to slow down considerably upon her return. She worked on a couple odd productions doing some minor dramaturgical work, but otherwise, Christine felt her talents were spent for the time being. She almost didn’t accept this offer, but it was a directing job and one of her favorite shows, so she eventually said “yes.” Deep down, she knew it was the boost she needed, and she was glad she didn’t end up letting her mopiness get in the way of her future achievements. She had all of her notes and concepts ready, a killer music director to work with, and a really great space they’d be performing in. Now it was just time for auditions -- a process Christine had very mixed feelings about -- and they could jump right into rehearsals. Production couldn’t start soon enough.

Of course, Christine couldn’t stop thinking about it. Because she thought about it most days and nights. And it was a silly thing to hold on to, but for awhile, it was the very little she had to hold on to.

* * *

 

Lips. Very soft lips. Lips she didn’t remember the feel of the first time she experienced them. Benedict’s lips feeling Christine’s lips cautiously and gently. Benedict’s lips and his hand clutching the back of her head, suddenly and with need. But not rough. Nothing about his kiss or his caress was rough. It was anxious and forward, but also sweet and feather-light. And his smell was of cologne and sweat and clean cotton because he had already changed from his suit into a tshirt and sweats. But he came back to her. He came back to say goodbye to her “properly.” He came back to kiss her. And he came back to leave again. He never sought out more than her closed lips, and all-too-soon he pulled away, his forehead pressed against hers as he tried to steady his breathing. He wasn’t meeting her eyes.

“Goodbye, then?” Christine whispered, her heart close to bursting. Or breaking. The feeling was indefinite.

“It just felt unfinished .... It felt like that wasn’t the way I should leave you.”

“I know.”

“This isn’t better, is it?”

Christine didn’t reply.

“I really enjoyed meeting you. I feel very fortunate to meet you.” His hand pressed against her head a bit harder, as if he was unsure.

“Likewise.” She hesitated. “So, this hasn’t been just me? Feeling ... something?” He looked right into her eyes.

“No. This is ... something.” Neither of them would say what “something” was. After three months, Christine was still wondering if she should have asked. He gave her another quick, borderline platonic, kiss before pulling away. “I mean it, keep in touch.”

“I think that’ll be harder for you than me, Mr. Big Shot A-List.” She smiled with little strength.

“Yeah ....”

“So ... goodbye.”

He gave her that look. “Goodbye, Christine Scott.” The look that always made everything feel better. And for a moment, she felt like it wasn’t the end. Not the end of them, or the end of TIFF, or the end of Christine’s film. It felt like a beginning.

He looked like he was going to embrace her once more, but instead he smiled for a moment and walked away.

* * *

 

Moments like those aren’t as dramatic as they are in the movies. They’re quiet and empty, and numb. Yet, Christine continued to replay those sad moments for three months. Things certainly looked like they ended. She hadn’t heard from him besides a couple of occasional tabloid posts. She tried to avoid going online to see all the photos from TIFF and the reviews and celebrations. She was there, and she felt so much like she ended it on the outside.

She kicked herself for dwelling on it all still when she was about to open up her first auditions in over a year. She was starting a new project. She’d be directing a major production of _The Last Five Years_ and would get to start things new again. She reminded herself this after every hopeful auditionee exited, but she was slow to believe it.

“Shane McAllister is next,” her assistant director whispered to her. Christine sighed. There were only a handful of auditions left, and she wasn’t feeling very good about the prospects yet.

“Hi, my name is Shane McAllister, I am auditioning for the role of Jamie, and my piece is ‘I’m Alive’ from _Next to Normal_.”

Suddenly, prospects were looking good. Very good, indeed.


	9. I'm Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane's audition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a really brief chapter, but I wanted to add something since you all have been so patiently waiting for an update! I promise another chapter relatively soon, and I also promise a lot more meat to it. :)

Christine sat, mouth slightly agape, as Rachel, her assistant director, handed her his headshot and resumé.

“Whenever you’re ready, Shane.” Rachel smiled as the handsome boy (man??? did she care????) handed his sheet music to the accompanist. A steady riff started as he fell seamlessly into character.

_I am what you want me to be,_  
 _And I’m your worst fear_  
 _You’ll find it in me_  
 _Come closer ..._  
 _Come closer ..._

Well .... Damn.

_I am more than memory_  
 _I am what might be,_  
 _I am mystery_  
 _You know me,_  
 _So show me._

Well .... _Damn._

_When I appear it’s_  
 _Not so clear if_  
 _I’m a simple spirit_  
 _Or I’m flesh and blood ..._

It was completely and utterly inappropriate the way Christine was staring at him. What potentially made it worse was that she was fairly certain he noticed, and that he was _feeding off of it_. And potentially worse that that, she felt very unashamed. Why should she feel ashamed? It wasn’t just that he was gorgeous (though, holy damn was he gorgeous), but he could sing. Christine already decided he had a callback. Hell, he already had the part of Jamie. Screw it, he could play Cathy too! Who was she to stop him?

Only the director, right?

The director who was dropping her eyes to the white tshirt tightly pulling across his chest ... and melting at the sight of his sweet-talking grin ... and shivering at the complete darkness in his eyes. Was that for her? He was looking directly at her. But isn’t that what he’s supposed to do? This was an audition, not real life. And the darkness, well, that just fit the song, didn’t it? This was just acting, wasn’t it?

_I am flame and I am fire,_  
 _I am destruction,_  
 _Decay and desire_  
 _I’ll hurt you ..._  
 _I’ll heal you ..._

Christine was developing a very bad habit of falling in love with actors.

_I’m your wish._  
 _Your dream come true,_  
 _And I am your darkest nightmare too._  
 _I’ve shown you ..._  
 _I own you._

Fuck, that was sexy. _Stop it, Christine_ .... But she wasn’t stopping it. No, she was quite enjoying herself, to be perfectly honest. For what it was worth, he seemed to be enjoying himself just as much. There was a moment taking place. Whether it was a moment between merely director and actor, or something more, was yet to be determined, and possibly irrelevant. Christine hardly had moments anymore, in any context, and she knew that if she was having a moment like this during an audition, she had found her Jamie. Well, her Jamie for the show. Not in life. Not that she was _looking_ for a Jamie in life. In fact, The Last Five Years really shouldn’t be a model relationship. Plus, it would be entirely unethical to cast him and pursue him. And, if she had to pick one or the other, she would decide to cast him. Not that she wanted to pursue him. Anyway, it was probably just part of his performance, nothing more than that. Right. Right? _Right._

Oh, Christine was in a very bad way.

* * *

 

“Thank you,” Shane concluded politely. His confidence in his performance shed away and revealed his touch of nervousness, his body stiffening as he went to retrieve his sheet music. Christine almost felt herself let out a breath of relief when he finally had exited the audition space. Rachel gave her a side-eyed glance, but returned to her paperwork.

They saw five more people after Shane -- Christine firmly believed in giving every auditionee a fair chance -- but, to little surprise, she hadn’t found anyone else she was impressed with and whom she connected with in the same way she had with Shane. Once the last auditionee was out of earshot, Rachel turned to her, already knowing the answer to the question she was about to ask.

“Do you want a callback for Jamie?”

“Well,” Christine hesitated. “What do you think?” She knew there was a chance Rachel might’ve seen something Christine didn’t. She wanted to keep that as fair game. Rachel shrugged.

“I know you were really wowed by that Shane kid, and I wouldn’t argue against that. He definitely had something. I’m not sure what it was, though. There was definitely an energy that filled the room. An intimacy, maybe?” In spite of herself, Christine’s ego sunk a bit in knowing that Rachel had felt the same intense vibe she had. At least they agreed that he fit the role best.

“Then I think we’ve made our decision.” They both nodded and began to gather their things.

As they walked out of the audition room, Rachel waited for Christine as she locked up.

“He was definitely interesting,” she had mused aloud.

“Yeah,” Christine agreed. “He definitely was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is "I'm Alive" from the musical Next to Normal


	10. It's Good to See You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A touch of smut, a touch of angst, and a touch of plot. Enjoy.

Christine wasn’t entirely sure how she got here.

She felt lightheaded, possibly drunk. _Did I really drink that much last night?_ Her head swam with thoughts as she became more aware of her surroundings. She was in her bedroom. She was alone. No? No, there was someone with her. Someone warm. Against her. Or, she was against them. Him.

Oh. _Him._

Wait.

_Oh._

She slid down his body, her mind clearly already set on a destination before it spent much time figuring out what was going on. Shane was naked and warm. _So very warm._ She could feel his heat radiating off of all his various parts, but somehow, though she could feel it, it wasn’t quite touching her.

Her lips kept pressing against his torso. She could almost feel what he was feeling: Soft, damp, pink lips fluttering across his warm skin. She was inhaling him with every kiss. She could smell his cologne mixed in with his sweat. She could smell the clean cotton of the t-shirts he wore to every rehearsal. Christine reached the sensitive skin just below his belly button that was trailed with fine golden hairs. She allowed the very tip of her tongue to run along the path, elicitng a groan out of him, his hips pushing towards her.

She was oh so ready to taste him; kiss him; feel his pulse against her lips as her tongue teased the head of his cock just the right way. Shane was pretty -- very pretty -- and Christine wanted him to need her. She wanted his large hands that she was always staring at to clutch her hair as he gently rocked into her mouth. Not by choice, of course, but because she was so damn good he couldn’t get enough of how she felt around him. These were things Christine wanted, and to be honest, thought about more often than she wished to admit. They had only had two weeks of rehearsal together, yet every night her fingers worked to the various thoughts of how she could have him worship her body through his pure desire for her to worship his. And she would happily oblige and celebrate his body, his warmth, and his taste.

But right now, he wasn’t letting her. Just as she was ghosting her lips over the hardness beneath his cotton briefs, he began to flip her so that she was underneath him, and he was settling between her thighs. Christine was naked (when did that even happen?), but before she could question or protest against his actions, Shane had slid two very slender and adept fingers into her warm wetness. Shane was so very big and Christine was so very small, and she could feel him filling her and stroking her just so, and soon enough his lips were pressing against her waiting clit, and then it was all lips and fingers and tongue, and Christine’s head was swimming. And she realized she must have been closing her eyes and giving in to indescribable pleasure because suddenly she had opened them and saw ... Benedict.

She closed them and opened them again, thinking it was just her imagination fucking with her. Benedict was there again. It was his long fingers filling her and his perfect lips humming against her and -- had it always been him? Was Christine just going crazy? And -- oh _God_ the things she was feeling. Nothing could get sorted in her head as long as he kept doing _that_. That _thing_. With his fingers moving faster and his lips more determined and --

“ _Come for me, darling,_ ” he purred against her soft skin. Christine wasn’t far off from his command as her fingers thread themselves through his hair and her hips sought out more of his touch and

* * *

 

She woke up in a sweat. Despite the nature of her dream, it wasn’t a good sweat. It was the same sweat she had woken up in three nights in a row, though this was the first time it was paired with a dream she could remember. She wished she couldn’t, though. It made the weight on her mind that much worse.

Christine had known that she was taking a risk in casting Shane. There was no doubt in her clear attraction towards him, regardless of how much she tried to supress it. She had tried her best to keep their relationship professional and to keep the naughty thoughts out of her head, but it was getting harder and harder with each rehearsal. What made it worst was that her and Shane were actually becoming quite good friends.

He was a couple of years older than her (which fit the role he was playing), but there was still something very boyish about him. He was charming and a bit daring, unafraid to throw the occasional flirtacious remark in her direction. Since majority of the scenes were performed solo, Christine decided to spend the first few rehearsals working one-on-one with each actor. She had been working with him on one of Jamie’s early songs and wanted him to really own his confidence.

“Jamie is this incredibly charming guy from the getgo. When we meet him, we’re seeing him at the beginning of their relationship, so we need to understand why Cathy falls in love with him. The audience needs to fall in love with him. Charm the fucking pants off of them,” she had coached.

“You’re my audience for today?” he confirmed.

“That’s right. So charm the fucking pants off of me.”

“Well, that’s a goal I’d like to achieve.” He winked and started at the top of the song. Christine was fairly certain that remark was just part of him getting into character, but she knew it wasn’t. Still, she let it slide. Shane was a fairly flirtacious person, anyway. While he may have been flirting with her, it didn’t mean he was interested in her. Nor should he be. Professional relationship, nothing more, right?

This seemed like a conversation Christine had with herself before .... Which brought her to the second issue apparently weighing heavy in her mind (or at the very least, in her dreams). She had gotten much better at not really thinking about Ben. It had almost been four months, and it was quite evident that _whatever_ chapter in Christine’s life that had occurred at TIFF was long over. She was getting over whatever it was slowly and steadily, though she supposed she hadn’t let go entirely. Not that _whatever_ she was moving onto was a much better option. Yes, Christine seemed to have a taste for the unobtainable. Because that’s what they both were, weren’t they? The actor shooting across the world and the actor directly under her employment, both of whom could easily have any woman they want. No wonder they had both appeared in her dream. That’s where they belonged.

4:27am.

Christine threw her hands over her face, embarassed at her own slow unwinding.

Her phone rang. Or wait, was that her alarm? No, she wouldn’t need to get up that early. Her phone was definitely ringing. She didn’t recognize the number at all. Honestly, her eyes were still blurry to make out much of anything. _God, I’m falling apart_ she thought, fumbling to answer the peculiar call.

“Hello?” Christine’s voice was like gravel.

“What in the world are you doing up at your hour?” _Oh, God no._ There was no mistaking that voice, especially when she had heard it in her fantasies just dozens of minutes before. Christine couldn’t stop tired and agitated words from spilling out her mouth.

“Why the fuck are you calling me?”

“I’m sorry,” Ben apologized at the speed of light, his mouth moving a mile a minute. “I thought I was calling my, uh, friend Christine. I’m sorry this is the wrong number and you were likely sleeping, I’ll cover whatever the cost for this call is --”

“Christ, stop babbling. It’s me, Christine.”

“Did I wake you?” She didn’t want to answer that.

“Why are you calling me?” Christine almost whispered.

“Keeping in touch.” God, she could _hear_ his oblivious grin.

“It’s been almost four -- It’s, it’s been a while. I figured I just wasn’t going to hear from you at this point.”

“I know .... I’m sorry.” He went silent.

How? How could he still fucking _do_ _that_? How could it be four months since she’s seen him, still not even seeing him now, and still, every bit of stress that had been consuming her all that time had just melted away.

“It’s ... okay,” she conceded. She was sure his face had lit up.

“I bet you look adorable right now.”

“ _What?_ ”

“You sound completely exhausted. I bet you’re all sleepy. I’m sure it’s adorable.”

“Oh, piss off.” He chuckled in spite of her grumpiness.

“I mean it.” Ben hesitated. “I’m sure you’d rather I hung up soon. I just meant to leave a message, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I don’t mind. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. It’s ... worth it,” Christine admitted slowly. There was another silence.

“Do you have FaceTime?” he asked her suddenly.

“Yes, why?”

“I’m wondering if you still look just as I remember you.” Her face went warm before he added, “Plus, these international calls are expensive as Hell. FaceTime and Skype, however, are managable.”

“Do you really need to worry about managing money?”

“I do if it means I don’t have to admit how badly I want to see you.” Christine was rendered speechless for a moment. She considered what he was asking. She wanted to see him too. God, she wanted nothing more than to see him. Not on TV or in some gab mag. She needed to see him as he was with her.

She also knew it was a risk. A giant one. Likely one that wouldn’t leave her or her emotions in a very good place.

Ah, fuck it.

“I gave you my email, correct?”

“Yes,” he responded quickly.

“I’m gonna hang up in a second. Call my email through FaceTime, we’ll talk. I don’t think I’m going back to sleep anyway. And _please_ , don’t take another four months to get around to it.” She could sense his grin again. That grin that always lit up his entire face. She was eager to see it for herself.

“Yes, ma’am. I promise I won’t be late.”

“Good. See you soon.” Christine felt herself smiling as she hung up. Her nerves spiraled around in her stomach as she held her phone across from her face and waited. A minute passed, and another. She was starting to get tired again. Five more minutes. She sank closer to sleep and closer to defeat.

Her screen lit up with a FaceTime call. Taking a deep breath and considering the possible consequences of her letting him into her life so fast again, she accepted her choice along with the call.

There was that look, the one that always got her. She couldn’t help but feel her face light up in response.

“What?” she asked as he stared back at her, speechless.

“Nothing,” he started. “It’s just ... really good to see you.”


	11. Not Yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christine builds her relationships with both Ben and Shane. What type of relationships they are is a whole other question.
> 
> Vaguely NSFW (more for language than action)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the very long hiatus! I know a lot of you have been following this story closely, and I'm happy to finally have a new chapter and to have some of my inspiration back! I hope to be updating more frequently again. :)

“I’ll chat you up again soon, alright?” Benedict’s sleepy voice rasped in a low legato as Christine began opening up the cartons of her take-out.

“Going to bed so soon?” She pouted. He smiled at Christine through her laptop’s screen, but he was visibly exhausted. It was just after 1am at the cozy London flat where he resided.

“I’ve got a table read I’ll need to be awake for tomorrow. Anyhow, don’t you have anywhere you need to be? Girl in her twenties eating take-away alone on a friday night? More than a bit sad, don’t you think?” Christine pretended she was hurt, but she was grinning through it.

“You’re so mean to me, you know,” she grumbled through a mouth full of orange chicken.

“Charming. But seriously, no plans?” She shrugged.

“Not at the moment. Might get through some of the build-up on my DVR.” Benedict looked a bit concerned, but whatever worries he had were quickly discarded in favor of a mighty yawn. “Go to bed, it’s fine, I’ll talk to you later.”

“You’re sure? I could keep you company for at least another hour, if you wanted me to.”

“Ben, no. That would be dumb. Get to bed, or I won’t even answer your next call,” she teased.

“That’s harsh. Fine, as you wish. I’ll call you in a few days, love. Save some good stories for me.” God, he was cute when he was tired.

“I’ll certainly do my best.” There was a long pause.

“Good night, Christine.”

“Night, Ben.”

_This user has disconnected._

* * *

  
Ben and Christine had been chatting regularly through various text and video platforms for a few weeks after his initial call to her. She would call right before bed or vice versa, as they rarely had time to talk during either of their respective days. Then they’d usually talk for an hour or so, and say their goodnights. That was always the most uncomfortable part, as no matter how many times they conversed with each other, they never quite knew the right way to end their chats. Still, they managed. At least, they always tried.

The buzzer to Christine’s apartment went off.

* * *

  
She wasn’t exactly sure why she felt the need to lie to Ben about her rendez-vous that evening. It’s not like they were attached. Hell, they barely were maintaining a long-distance friendship. Plus, it’s not as if her and Shane were an _item_. Just friends. _Just colleagues, actually,_  she reminded herself. _Just colleagues_. Of course, regardless, Christine felt a little guilty, and very naughty, especially as Shane sidled up the stairs, muscles straining against his leather jacket and the most disgustingly erotic smirk on his face as he saw her standing in the door. She was well aware that she was treading some fine lines in her relationships; the lines between colleague and lover, lover and friend, friend and colleague. You didn’t need to tell her twice that it was extremely dangerous, that someone was going to get hurt (probably her), and that it was unwise to have such little control or understanding of one’s relationships. The kicker was: She didn’t fucking care. Well, she _did_ , a little. There was no denying the small feelings of unease grumbling in the pits of her stomach everytime she spoke with Benedict or looked at Shane, but that feeling was easily overshadowed by how much fun she was having. Perhaps she felt liberated because she didn’t feel she had any honest chance with either of these men, what with Ben being a gigantic movie star from across the pond and Shane seeming more and more by the day to be a living and breathing sex god. So, she lusted. She lusted while being very sure that nothing was to come out of her frivolous feelings, and she got as close to those lines as she possibly could.

“I can smell the Chinese food from out here. Did you start without me?” Shane feigned a look of offense as he towered above her in the door. Yet, that smirk still wouldn’t leave his face. _Damn him_ , Christine thought.

“Not my fault that you’re tardy,” she reprimanded him, grinning as well. “Come on, it’s still warm.”

“Just how I like it.” He shrugged off his jacket and Christine almost fell to the floor.

“You couldn’t even bother to get dressed up for me?” she remarked with sarcasm, trying to mask how the breath just got knocked out of her. She was failing very, very badly. _Dumb tight v-neck. Dumb low-rise jeans._

“Yeah, you don’t actually seem that bothered by what I’m wearing.” _Dumb smug grin. Dumb Christine. Stop. Gaping_. He draped his jacket over a chair, grabbed a carton of fried rice, and sank down into her couch, his legs spread open. It wasn’t his first time over. Christine grabbed her half-eaten orange chicken and sat next to him, turning her body so she could look at him better.

Shane was ... hot, to say the least. Of course he had arrested Christine’s attention the first moment she saw him, but their increased time together had really worsened her condition. He was covered in muscle that was lean everywhere but his arms, which were large and veiny. She found out through a previous conversation that he was a pretty dedicated athlete, primarily running and snowboarding.

“I like to keep fit, especially for all these auditions I’m doing.” he admitted to her after a rehearsal. “It’s a helluva lot easier to cover up muscle for a role than it is to put it on. Might as well be stocked up.” Not that she had any complaints.

Then there was his face. His jaw, which must have been carved by Zeus himself, was second only to Michael Fassbender’s in masculinity. He was always grinning, because he was always happy. In fact, beyond his Heavenly and Hellish blinding hotness, Christine really loved how he was excited about everything. Whether he was giving that look he always had (that disgusting, terrible, horribly sexy look) when he was feeling particular confident about himself, or whether he was just really happy to do a job he loved in a city he grew up in, there was something really lovely about seeing a person smile so damn much. _It needs to stop_ , Christine groaned in her head. Not that she had any complaints.

His eyes were stormy grey and always twinkling with excitement. He led from his hips everytime he walked. He always wore impossibly tight shirts. Only a week before, Christine had “accidentally” caught him bending over, his shirt pulling up to expose a tattoo on his lower back. He was overwhelmingly masculine, unbearably sexy, cocky almost-to-a-fault, stunningly talented, and annoyingly flirtacious. Not that she had any complaints.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, his mouth stuffed with fried rice. Christine couldn’t say the honest answer, which was “Your butt,” so she tried her best to make good and honest conversation between _colleagues_.

“Just tech week coming up,” she replied casually.

“Nervous?”

“Nah, just ... stressed.”

“Well that’s no good.” Shane looked genuinely concerned, even as he wiped his mouth on his arm. He put his food down and turned towards her, his arm along the back of the couch, towards her. _Unfair_ , she thought.

“I’m the director. I think it’d be a little unusual if I weren’t at least a little bit stressed.”

“Yeah, but ...” He paused, causing Christine to look up at him. “You’re doing well. And ... it’s not that you shouldn’t be stressed. You just shouldn’t be carrying the weight of it. You’re good, we’re good, it’s a good show, and it’ll come together. Relax.” He breathed out the last word in a soothing whisper and cautiously reached out his hand to give hers a reassuring squeeze. Christine sighed, looking down.

“I have no concept of what that word means.”

“Want me to show you?” She looked back up him, making eye contact. His eyes were darker, though non-threatening. Her skin flushed under his gaze.

Just like every other time Shane had visited her apartment recently, he had come over to “talk the show,” although it almost always ended in them watching movies or just conversing over beers. He always kept his flirtacious demeanor, but things never got heated. There was never really any tension between them, and if she felt like there was, Christine was always certain it was just her. This time was different.

She wanted to push to see what would happen.

“ _Save some good stories for me._ ” Ben’s words from not long before echoed around in her head as she contemplated seeing where Shane was going.

“How would you show me?” she asked shyly.

“Turn around,” Shane whispered, and the pace of Christine’s heart immediately sped up as she wondered what his next move was. Was he going to undress her? Was he going to surprise her with something? Part of her even jumped straight to quick and dirty sex from behind, though that was the most unrealistic option. Damn, though, did it put an image in her mind. _Colleagues_ , her mind pressed, as she knew she was already well past crossing that line. She shifted her position so her back faced him. Shane hesitated for a moment, but then suddenly he placed his large hands on her shoulders, and started rubbing firm circles into her tense muscles. Christine almost let out a sigh of relief, his gesture being much more innocent than she had thought. They could still be “just friends.” Massages didn’t _have_ to mean anything.

He worked his way across her shoulders; down her arms; around her spine. They remained quiet, save Christine’s involuntary groans at the relief. She supposed he was right. She had a nasty habit of carrying all her stress around, even when she had no reason to be worrying about it. His strong hands and deft fingers were assuring; comforting.

Shane started making his way up to her neck, where most of the tension was. She was only vaguely aware of how his body kept gravitating closer to hers. However, once the tips of his right fingers grazed the side of Christine’s neck, the massage had turned into something else altogether.

She could feel Shane’s solid chest against her back, along with what was undeniably an erection. He gently pulled her hair away from her neck, and before she knew it, Christine could feel a rough jaw and soft lips against her skin, pressing against her with unsurity. Warm wetness flooded between her legs very quickly, but surprisingly, her conscience flew to her even quicker.

“I’m your director,” she sighed, not pulling away from his lips’ gentle caresses.

“I don’t care. No one has to know about this.” Christine could feel the low grumble of his voice vibrating against her nape. His teeth grazed her surface.

“No, no.” She willed herself to pull away, turning to face him. Shane was breathing heavily, and he looked hurt. “Not ... yet,” she insisted. She watched his eyes; watched him contemplating what she had said. Slowly, he nodded, shifting so that they weren’t so close.  
“Alright,” he finally answered. And then ... he smiled, like he always does. “I’m holding you to that, though.” Suddenly Christine became very aware of the implications of “yet.” She shook her worries off, reminding herself to not carry so much stress. “So,” his friendly boyishness back, “Are you kicking me out, or are we watching a movie?” Shane was smirking at her again, the way he did when he first came over. The way he did when he first auditioned for her. Smirking as if nothing had happened, but somehow still with a knowledge that he has some sort of hold on her. It was ridiculously sexy. He gestured as if to say, “Well?”

Finally, Christine answered, “Movie.”

* * *

 

They stayed up late and ended up watching a quarter of a dozen movies. Shane didn’t touch her again, at least, not the way he had when that darkness was in his eyes. In fact, they both went on as if none of that had ever happened. But things _were_ different now. Christine knew that he liked her, or at least _wanted_ her, a little bit, and Christine had promised that eventually, he would get what he wanted. And, what she wanted too. Right?

Shane called a cab and left Christine with a tight hug (an area he was an expert in). She got ready for bed, suddenly feeling a bit lonely in her empty apartment. Just as she tucked into bed, she opened up her laptop, checking the usual sites. The “Skype” logo bobbed up and down from the bottom of her screen, sporting a little red notification.

_Just woke up. Hope your night wasn’t too lonely. xx Ben_

She sighed weakly and closed her laptop, reminding herself half-heartedly that Ben was just a friend, and Shane was just a colleague, as she tried not to carry her stress and to fall right asleep.


	12. Goodbye Until Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the night before Opening Night, and Christine faces where she currently is in her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. I apologize for the lack of Benedict lately! Right now I'm focusing on developing Shane as a character, but I promise that Benedict will become very important again, very soon.

The last time Christine felt really secure in her life was back in college. Granted, that wasn’t too long ago. The two years went by fast. Even so, transitions always left Christine feeling like she had fallen to the bottom of the barrell again, and had no choice but to claw her way back up. She was very good at it, and was always proud of her achievements. However, starting over not only left her with a lot of work to do, but always left her feeling unconfident. Those feelings were best demonstrated when she found herself lost in Toronto mere months ago, and now she was starting to build herself up again: Her show opened in just one day, she had sent _Of Memory and Sunsets_ to a few more festivals for consideration, and for a rare time in her life, Christine didn’t feel alone. Her and Ellen had been getting lunch more periodically, and she had never felt closer to the girl she grew up with. Her and Ben had also begun speaking almost every day, whether through long Skype calls or quick little messages wishing one another a good day. She was amazed at what a good friend he had ended up being, but kept their friendship mostly to herself. The only other person who knew about Christine’s frequent correspondence with the British star was Ellen, who never failed to be perplexed by the situation.

“So you’re ... friends?” she had asked Christine during a coffee date.

“Yeah. It’s really nice.”

“Just friends?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Christine emphasized with a look.

“Didn’t you two like, make out or something?” A crimson shade spread over her face, remembering her first awkward encounter with Ben.

“We were drunk. I had only just met him. It was nothing.”

“I thought he confessed feelings when he said goodbye?”

Christine froze. It was a while since she thought about the end of her September adventure. She supposed that with everything that had happened since, she didn’t have much room to think about it. Either that, or she didn’t want to.

“We still barely knew each other .... It was really confusing, but it was a while ago. Obviously all of that is irrelevent now. We’re getting on just fine as friends.”

“Plus, you want a piece of Shane-cake.” Ellen laughed at her friend’s embarrassment at the suggestion. “Hey, I don’t blame you. That boy is fucking hot. And not in London. Get it.” The both giggled, but Christine still felt that drop of guilt. As always, she had ignored it.

* * *

  
Of course, Christine _was_ getting closer with Shane. In fact, every day since he propositioned her in her apartment, she was feeling bolder. Touches and teases here and there -- backstage, after rehearsal, during warm-ups -- that always were followed by a glance and a smirk. While there weren’t rules drawn out about appropriate conduct between actor and director, Christine felt nothing could carry on while they were still rehearsing together. However, once performances started, she was essentially out of the picture. It was the stage manager’s show to run at that point, and with opening night less than 24 hours away, she felt her heart racing in anticipation and anxiousness.

* * *

 

Back in her senior year of college, there was Sara. Christine was 21, and Sara was 20 and oh-so-very beautiful. Sara was Christine’s first true adult relationship. They got their first apartment together and lived together for a year. She was tall, red-headed, soft, and always smiling. There was always tea and eggs in the morning. There was always soft sounds of guitar floating against the white walls. There was always walking until 4am and talking about the end of the world. The relationship was very existential, and very college. They were both trying to grasp the precarious step to adulthood sitting above them, and there was so much on their minds and in their hearts to share. It was the type of relationship that feels like “the one,” but you know it won’t be. There was always this feel that there was an expiration date to that sort of love, so they took each day as it came and tried to hold each other tightly at night. Regardless of their sense of an impending finale, everything about their relationship felt secure. There was _always_ laughter, _always_ routines, _always_ good sex, _always_ warm snuggling, _always_ _The Office_ marathons, and _always_ love. Some people say the same thing over and over again can get boring, but Christine was happy to grow bored with Sara, because it meant she had stability. It meant they were safe. She found it kind of amazing that having a boring life could be so exciting when that life is shared with another person.

Sara wasn’t quite as excited to get bored. Christine was finding steady success in school, had an internship with a nearby theatre company, was developing routines for her life, and was deciding who she wanted to be and what she wanted to do. While the consistency meant everything to Christine, Sara wasn’t sure of who she wanted to be, and when you don’t know who you want to be, it’s hard to be sure in who you want to be with. They broke up the fall after Christine graduated. She was moving into the next phase in her life, and Sara was still developing her current one. It just wasn’t going to be.

Routine and stability; this is where Christine was once again. She was getting work. She was forming relationships -- people she regularly could speak to, people she could let in, people who liked her, a couple of people who _really_ liked her -- it was so comforting to finally feel like she was fitting into the piece she tried carving for herself.  
That was exactly the reason why she was really fucking scared.

* * *

 

“Pause,” Christine interrupted the finale tech rehearsal, just as the final song was about to begin. “I know the whole point of a tech rehearsal, especially the final one, is to run the entire show without interruption as much as possible, but I want to take a moment here because I can’t think of a better way to close this night than with the final song. So, I’m going to speak to you all now, and then I want to run the finale, and then I want us all to go home, wake up tomorrow, and put on a kick-ass performance. Sound good?” Christine’s actors nodded in response, and she rounded up the small crew to the seats of the audience to speak to them one final time.

“I know that normally I start off my final remarks with some critical notes, and I want to let you know I have none for today. This show -- our beautiful show that we have been working on -- it’s just phenomenal guys. It really is. And I cannot emphasize enough just how freaking lucky I feel to have gotten to work on a show like this. _The Last Five Years_ , truly, is one of my favorites, and is a dream come true to have the chance to direct. Never did I think I’d be standing here at Theater Wit, only a couple of years into my career, telling my extremely talented cast and crew just how lucky _I_ am to have them, and I only hope you can leave this feeling lucky to have me. And I certainly hope you feel lucky to have had each other. This is a rare show, to be this small, but it’s comfortable, and it’s close, and it’s given us something that not all shows can have in their production team, and that’s a connection. I hope you all feel connected to each other, and I _know_ that tomorrow you will bring that connection and share it with our audience, and you will tell them this beautiful, heartbreaking story. Shane and Emma, can we just applaud for these two?” The entire company smiled and clapped for the two attractive actors sitting up front. Emma looked down, smiling shyly, and Shane was just beaming straight at Christine, like _he_ was proud of _her_. It made her heart flutter. “You two have been working your asses off to do this show right. It’s not easy, and it’s always a risk to put two actors together and to hope they can make this relationship seem genuine, and you both are just simply astounding. I hope you feel proud of yourselves, because God knows I’m proud of both of you. I barely have to do any work, you two are working so hard and making such fantastic choices. Thank you, for being part of this show and for sharing this with me.” Both actors smiled again and the crew responded with more claps.

Christine went on to thank every member of the crew individually, pointing out their specific contributions, and making sure they get their well-deserved recognition (especially as she understood how hard it is for crew members to get properly recognized). However, everyone involved in the show _was_ very close, so ultimately everyone ended up very emotional and proud, and there was a lot of clapping and smiling and laughing at some of the rehearsal memories.

“We have a really wonderful show to give. I don’t care if anyone else thinks so, we _know_ so, and all of our hearts have been in this thing. So, tomorrow, let’s just fucking do it, and share this beautiful work of art we’ve made. I’m so proud, and I’m so happy for all of you. Let’s have a good show.” Everyone cheered, adrenaline high at the realization that opening night was under 24 hours away.

“Hold on,” Shane broke the applause before Christine had a chance to resume rehearsal. “Don’t sit down yet, Miss Director.” He stood up, his masculine frame commanding the space. Emma and Rachel, the assistant director, both stood up as well, scurrying to one of the wings.

“Oh no, what’s happening?” Christine started to blush.

“I think,” Shane started, “that someone else deserves some recognition for the work she’s put into this show.” Emma and Rachel returned with a large bouquet of flowers, a bottle of Merlot, and a framed poster for the show signed by the entire cast and crew. Christine could feel tears welling behind her eyes. “I have to admit, when I first auditioned for this thing to see that the director was even younger that I am, I was pretty skeptical. But, immediately you proved to be one of the most attentive, considerate, and personal directors I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with, and I think I speak for all of us in saying that. You’re positive, you’re imaginative, you’re honest, you’re funny, collaborative, and Hell, you’re pretty beautiful too. You can spend the whole night saying how lucky you were to work with us, but truly, we were lucky to work with you. We all chipped in, and we hope these small gifts represent the _great_ amount of appreciation I -- _we_ \-- have for you. Congratulations Christine.” She received the gifts, and in a moment of amazement and vulnerability from her remarkable situation and fortune, Christine completely lost herself in joyful tears, and both Emma and Rachel hugged her tightly. After a moment of composing herself, Shane approached her, taking her into an embrace as well.

“I’m really proud of you,” he whispered against her temple. She only nodded.

“Alright,” she finally announced “Enough sentiment, let’s finish this rehearsal and get the Hell home!” There was laughter as everyone returned to their places for the final number. Christine took a seat front and center, allowing herself to not watch the show from a critical director’s point of view, but as her audience would, and she felt her heart swell with amazement and joy.

_And goodbye until tomorrow_   
_Goodbye till I recall how to breathe_   
_And I have been waiting_   
_I have been waiting for you_

Emma was belting with a wide smile. Shane stood on his side of the stage, somber and emotional.

_All I could do was love you_   
_God, I loved you so_   
_So we could fight_   
_Or we could wait_   
_Or I could go ..._

Christine felt tears again, but held them back. God, this was home for her, Theatre, community, work, art. It was all she ever wanted.

_I will keep waiting_   
_I will keep waiting for you!_

Shane locked eyes with her, lacking his usual boyish grin. He stared at her as Emma sang her final lines;

_Just close the gate_   
_I’ll stand and wait_   
_Jamie ..._

Shane swallowed hard before joining Emma on the final line and the final word, turning to face each other from opposite ends of the stage. A chill ran across Christine’s back. The music quieted. Right before singing, Shane glanced at Christine one last time.

_Goodbye._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is "Goodbye Until Tomorrow/I Could Never Rescue You" from The Last Five Years


	13. Heart of Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With opening night a complete success, Christine and the crew go out to celebrate. No longer having a professional relationship, Shane and Christine have a chance to bring their relationship to the next level.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW because it's about time I wrote some smut! Part 1 of 2 smutty chapters, basically.

“Let’s do some motherfucking shots!” Christine, Rachel and Ellen cheered loudly as Emma brought a full tray of jello shots to the booth. “Drink up, guys and gals.” She raised a glass as the three other girls, along with Shane, and Keith the stage manager, each grabbed a shot, eagerly slamming back the drinks in unison. After a successful opening night, it felt right to celebrate, and to celebrate the way that people in their 20s celebrate best; with lots and lots of alcohol.

“I am soooo fucking proud of ev’ry single one of yous,” Christine slurred, much to Ellen’s amusement.

“I think you need to be cut off,” she advised.

“I am perfectly ffffine. I dunno whatcher talkin’bout.”

“Babe, I think your friend might be right,” Shane smiled down at Christine as she let out a small hiccup. Sometime throughout the night his arm ended up around her, and she was having too much fun to care, and everyone else was having too much fun to even notice. _Babe_. The word echoed (loudly) in Christine’s head. Their relationship had escalated quickly in the few short hours since their first curtain call, and yet nothing had felt rushed. She hadn’t realized how close they had been getting to actually having something together. Now that the primary barrier between them was gone, they didn’t even have to discuss it. Shane had been quiet for most of the evening, just sitting next to Christine wherever she ended up in the bar, and listening intently as she talked and laughed amongst her friends. Before they left the theatre, he even made a point to introduce himself to Ellen.

“So _you’re_ the infamous Shane?” Ellen asked bemused, barely concealing her own appreciation for the man’s physique.

“Hopefully not too infamous. And you’re ... Ellen? Is that right?”

“Nailed it on the first try.” She leaned over to Christine, suggestively whispering “Maybe you’ll be just as lucky.” Christine hit her best friend playfully, but secretly hoped for the same.

Shane loved watching Christine tell jokes, and he loved the way she threw her head back every time anyone else said something particularly funny. Whenever she was pushed into a slew of giggles (which was often, thanks to the shots), happiness erupted from her, bubbling out with newfound energy. He was happy to spend the night sitting by her side, and he was glad to watch her celebrate what he felt was a remarkable achievement. He wasn’t lying when he said it the night before. He thought she was amazing, and he was extremely proud of her.

An upbeat disco riff started over the speaker of the bar, causing both Christine and Ellen to cry “Oh _hella_ yes!” The two immediately agreed to get up and dance.

_Once I had a love and it was a gas_   
_Soon turned out had a heart of glass_

The two girls shook and swayed, dancing like teenagers amongst a small crowd of other young urbanites with nowhere else to be. Emma stood up to get more drinks, leaving Shane, Rachel and Keith alone in the booth.

“She really is something, isn’t she?” Keith seemed to be reading the mind of his male companion.

“Yeah, she is,” Shane replied, watching Christine with joy and admiration.

“C’mon baby, let’s dance!” Rachel tugged at Keith’s sleeve, who shrugged, allowing her to tug him onto the floor.

_Once I had a love and it was divine_   
_Soon found out I was losing my mind_   
_It seemed like the real thing but I was so blind_   
_Mucho mistrust, love’s gone behind_

“Why won’t you dance with us?” Christine called out to Shane from across the space. He shook his head, laughing at her enthusiasm, but her eyes pleaded with him as she mouthed “Please.”

As Shane strode towards her, it felt like all the moving bodies turned into a blur of slow-motion. The way he moved was so cool, so slick, and so confident, and yet at the moment he looked shy and vulnerable, focusing all of his attention and intentions towards her.

_In between_   
_What I find is pleasing, and_   
_I’m feeling fine_   
_Love is so confusing,_   
_There’s no peace of mind_

He grabbed her hips and moved her close to him. Ellen watched them out of the corner of her eye, mentally crossing her fingers for all of the tension to finally come to fruition. Christine started singing against the solid mass of Shane’s chest, feeling his skin warm and pulsing with life through the thin threadbare fabric.

_“If I fear I’m losing you, it’s just no good_   
_You teasing like you do.”_

“You have a pretty voice,” he informed her over the music.

“You think so?” She pressed her cheek closer against him.

“Yeah, you should be in musicals too!”

“I think I’d rather direct them.”

“I’ll always go see them.” She turned her head up to look at him.

“Good.” They both grinned.

_Yeah, riding high on love’s true bluish light_

“Can I ask you a question?” Christine felt bold at the moment, and wasn’t going to let the moment pass by.

“Sure.”

“How would you like to go kiss me outside?” She felt Shane’s fingers tighten around her waist, his breath deepening before he said, low and sexy,

“I’ve been waiting to do that for a very long time.”

She grabbed his hand with a lazy smile, and they made their escape away from the crowd. Christine caught eyes with Ellen as she made her way out, and Ellen nonverbally told Christine that it was okay. As the cool Chicago air hit their heated skin, she could feel a light vibration in her left jean pocket, but was too distracted by Shane’s soft lips and large hands grasping her face to pay it any attention.

* * *

 

They took the train, both having spent too much money on booze and flowers to afford a taxi for the night. Christine fucking hated taking the subway after 11:30p, but with such big and strong company as gorgeous and beautiful Shane, she was hardly concerned. It was late, meaning the platforms were almost entirely empty, and the train waits were long. The two couldn’t be bothered much anyway. Shane had Christine pressed against a concrete pillar, the dim light and musky subway smell unnoticed as he kissed her fiercely and sloppily; grinning teeth scraping; soft, moist lips playing; stubble burning in the best of ways.

His denim-clad hips ground against her, hopelessly. She could feel the heat and strain of his erection, which was nearly rock hard, aching for her touch. His height towered over her petite frame, and his body was pressed so close to hers, she couldn’t move if she wanted to.

Good fucking thing she didn’t want to.

One other person stood on the platform, trying very hard not to notice the fervent, groaning bodies. After what must have been ages (but not nearly long enough in Christine’s mind), the train pulled in. Christine huffed in frustration at their fun having to be delayed. Shane, on the other hand, had completely other things in mind.

Just like the platform, the train car was fairly empty. A few bodies here and there, but none who were too concerned with whatever Christine and Shane were up to. He pulled her into a seat next to him towards the back, where only one elderly woman sat near them. He was silent and stoic, staring blankly ahead, which Christine found a bit rude. That is, until his hand, slowly and carefully, crept along the inside of her thigh. His expression was so still and his fingers moved so subtly, it was near impossible for anyone to notice what was happening. Still, Christine’s heart started pounding at the idea of doing something so dirty in such a public setting. His large hand had disappeared under the skirt of her dress, where her legs were spreading instinctively to his touch. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Shane’s lips curl up ever-so-slightly, before his blank expression returned. He stroked the smooth skin of her inner thigh, fingertips gliding back and forth, causing Christine to have to sit on her hands to stop from squirming. Without warning, his thumb brushed against the wet cotton of her panties. This time, he couldn’t stop a full-on grin from forming on his face as Christine’s breath got stopped in her throat. He wasted no time, pushing the fabric aside until he made contact with the heat of her pussy. Her legs were spreading scandalously wide, and it was a good thing there was one row of seats in front of them, otherwise the poor old lady would have a perfectly good view of Christine’s intimate parts. However, the lady was dozing off as Shane slid a thick finger knuckle-deep into Christine, gliding effortlessly through her desperate arousal. She held back a moan, and his smile crept up once again. He started to move in and out of her, torturously slow at first. At the end of each stroke, he’d be sure to just barely move against her G-Spot, which he found with ease.

The smug bastard.

He added a second finger, and was moving fairly quickly now, the veins of his forearm straining against his skin as he played with her, slowing down at each stop and picking up speed every time the train began moving again. His demeanor was still relaxed, but he was facing her now, watching every facial expression she made, listening for every little sound she made under her breath, and taking in every detail of her and her face and the feel of her and the way she reacted when she’s around him. Christine has a very distinct reaction around him. He destroys her. He puts her back together. He was doing both simultaneously with just two fingers, and she was completely losing herself, and giving it all up for him.

They only had two stops until they needed to get off, and that’s just what Shane had in mind. He picked up to a speed Christine didn’t even know was possible, and hit her depths harder, making sure to always hit the right spot, his thumb now making circles around her clit as she started rocking against his hand and the seat, her moans and movements almost impossible to contain. Shane’s own breath had become extremely audible as his own arousal was heightened by her near-orgasmic state. He pressed his forehead against her, whispering encouragements.

“That’s right, baby. You’re almost there. Are you gonna come for me? I want you to come for me right now. God, you look so fucking sexy right now. I want to take you into your bed and make you feel so good. God ... I want to fuck you. That’s right, baby. Come for me. It’s okay. Come for me. Put on a good show.” He was groaning between words and Christine was going light-headed as she faced a sensory overload, biting down against his shoulder to stop herself from screaming as he hit her in just the right way paired with just the right amount of filthy words. He was grinning wide, his free hand grasping tightly against his leg, holding back his desperation until they were in a setting where he could make good on his word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As with last chapter, I promise Benedict will become a prominent character once again in a couple of chapters. Christine has to get some things out of the way with Shane first ;) 
> 
> The song featured is Heart of Glass by Blondie


	14. Safe and Sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More sexy times ensue, and maybe something more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to resolve the little cliffhanger from last chapter! NSFW. I sometimes use the c-words in reference to genitalia, just as a warning (as I know some people aren't fans of those words! You'll never hear me use them maliciously, though). 
> 
> Next chapter will have some prime Benedict plot, so stay tuned!

It was a good ten minute walk from the train platform to Christine’s apartment, and so they ran out like their pants were almost quite literally on fire. Their bodies walked the sidewalk, tense with anticipation. Months of pent up frustration had finally cracked them. When they were about three minutes away, Shane abruptly pulled her into an alley with him, wrapping his arms around her torso, and kissing her feverishly.

“I can’t wait,” he panted into her ear, giving Christine goosebumps. He shoved her against the side of a building, hooking one leg around his hip so that he could grind against her soft, cotton-sheathed warmth. “God, I can feel how wet you are through my jeans. I didn’t even clean you up, did I?” She felt his cocky smirk against her lips. “Do you want me to clean you up now?” She could only whimper in response. Holding her one knee up, Shane suddenly dropped and hooked it over his shoulder. A large hand grabbed the edge of her panties carefully, and slowly pushed them down. The air outside was brisk, and his warm breath was a welcomed shock against her cunt. He took a breath as if he was about to say something, but instead he just looked up at her, smiled, and dragged only the very tip of his tongue slowly up her slick. Christine cried out, still a little over-sensitive, and barely managing to handle the extremely dirty things Shane was doing to her. “Mm, you’re such a sweet girl.” He started to leave small, chaste kisses all over her mound. “I like a sweet girl,” he hummed. Christine’s hands instinctively shot to his head, grasping his messy blond hair, and desperately tried to make more of a connection, squirming and whimpering above him. Shane dipped a long finger into her, and dropped her leg from his shoulder. He slid up against her body until they were face-to-face, her skirt still pushed up between their bodies. His clean hand cradled her face, tilting it up so that she could watch as he slowly licked his finger clean. Christine’s mouth fell open. “You taste as sweet as you look,” he informed her, with a serious face. She was speechless. Never in her life had anyone been so dirty, so explicit with her. She had never done anything in public nor had she really wanted to, but she wanted to break all the rules with Shane. He made her want to be plain filthy. She was being submissive, but she felt powerful. She ground her hips against his, desperate to make more contact, needing to feel more of the hard appendage straining under his jeans against her pussy.

For the most part, Shane had managed to remain cool and composed throughout their tryst, but once she started rutting against him, he broke for a moment to let out a hoarse groan.

“Pretty baby,” he chuckled anxiously. “You’re making the front of my jeans so wet.” His chest started heaving against her as a dark look crossed his eyes. “God, I fucking need to have you.” His hands reached and grabbed her by the ass, pushing her up high against the wall and forcing her legs to wrap around him. “I want to fuck you right here, in the dark night. I want it to be dirty. I want to hear your moaning in my ear and echoing against this brick wall right here as I thrust into you over, and over, and over again. Hard. I want you marked all over my skin and scratching up my back.” Shane leaned in so close to Christine she couldn’t even see his face, but could only hear his voice right against her ear. “What if I couldn’t wait? What if I fucked the shit out of you right here, fast and unpretty?”

Christine whimpered.

“Yes, please, please, please. Fuck me. Please fuck me.” She had never been spoken so explictly in her life. Not out loud, at least.  
“You want it that bad?” he teased.

“Yes! Yes, yes, please.” Her voice was melting into high pitched moans as he thrust his erection against her roughly, giving a taste of what he was offering.

“Do you want me to make you come again?” His voice was so low, Christine could feel it resonating in the pit of her stomach.

“Yes .... Shane please. Please just fuck me.” She reached for his belt, but he pulled her hands away and kissed her slowly; sweetly.

“You’re pretty cute when you’re begging,” he laughed against her lips. “C’mon!” He pulled her away from the wall. His entire attitude was lighter and more relaxed, causing Christine to just become more frustrated.

“So you’re not gonna -- that was all -- ?!?”

“Did you really think I was gonna have sex with you for the first time in a dirty alley? Especially when your apartment is only three minutes away and I know for a fact you have really warm bedding? Think again.” He started walking away, returning to the main sidewalk.

“You motherfucker!” Christine called after him. She was extremely frustrated with his teasing, but there was a little flutter in her tummy. “First time,” he said, as if there would be a second.

* * *

 

The whole rest of the night turned into a blur of Christine’s apartment and lots and lots of kissing and Shane’s amazing body and oh God he wasn’t even wearing underwear and his several hidden tattoos all with meanings she never had a chance to ask about and Christine’s body and the look he has seeing it for the first time and the way she felt her skin go hot and her cheeks go red as she tried to shelter herself and the way he pulled her against him so he could kiss her forehead and tell her that she was everything he imagined her to be (and oh God he was imagining her??) and lights turning off and then on and then dimming until there’s only a soft flicker and the smell of lavender and vanilla on top of the bedstand where Christine pulled out her extremely limited collection of emergency condoms.

There was a whole sequence that involved Shane’s lips, and Christine’s lips, and her other lips and the way he took his time and made it slow, not to make her come but to make her just feel good. The clock said 1:55am and neither of them had very many places to be, and it felt like he could’ve just stayed against her forever. So soft. So warm. He still talked to her, in low voices with filthy words, but everything about it felt sweet. And so warm. She felt oddly safe in his presence, and perhaps it was instinct after all the time they had spent together in the very same apartment, forging an intimacy they weren’t even cognicent of.

“I’m gonna take care of you, pretty baby,” he kept repeating in a soothing whisper. “I’m gonna take care of you.”

Eventually there was the moment where he entered her for the first time, and he was a little large so they had to go a little slow, but he didn’t hesitate to hesitate.

“Tell me when it’s okay,” he kept reassuring her.

Finally it was okay, and Christine was warmed-up and open and excited and terrified, and so he slid into her, one muscular arm wrapped around her shoulder and the other clutching her headboard. One breathy “fuck” was all that escaped his lips, and that was the last word exchanged between them for some time.

At times it was what he promised. Somewhere towards the middle -- when Shane’s muscles were straining and his pulse was pounding through his cock and they had both become sufficiently sweaty and he just couldn’t handle how fucking beautiful she looked all mussed up beneath him -- this was when his hips snapped faster and faster, until the mattress was springing and the bed frame was shaking. He would bite her neck and pull her lip as her fingers tried to claw up his back, holding on for dear life.

However, at other times, it was something neither of them had anticipated. At the beginning, when Shane was just getting a chance to know her body, it was slow and tentative. It was questioning. He never made a move without making sure it was something she wanted, and in the way that she needed. He would kiss her to gauge her feelings, feeling Christine’s energy passing through her very soft and very pink lips.

And at the end -- when he was sure of her and she was sure of him, it became raw passion. Wrapping both of his arms around her as tight as possible, Shane adjusted so that they were both sitting up with Christine facing him, their bodies as close as possible as they both started rocking against one another simultaneously. Shane’s head fell, breathless, against her shoulder into the crook of her neck as he pulled her down hard but steadily against him. Christine’s eyes shut closed as she felt the warmth building inside her core, but before she could see release, Shane was pulling her to him tighter and tighter, his body rocking frantically until he let out three long groans. Christine quickly dropped her hand between them, rubbing her clit in the way she knows will get her there fast. Shane just ended up watching, too spent from his own climax to process how to help. Soon, Christine cried a high pitched moan and fell against Shane’s torso.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to pant out.

“Don’t be. I technically came like a whole hour before you did.” She tried to regain her breath.

“That’s true, isn’t it? Damn, I must be good then.” They both laughed between breaths, and fell back against the mattress until the waves of their orgasms fully subsided.

* * *

 

After a few moments of recovery, Christine hopped up from her bed, turned on the light, and started gathering her clothes.

“Uhm, you know this is _your_ apartment, right? You don’t have to skip out. In fact, it’d be weird if ya did.” He laughed at her.

“I was just putting on clothes so I can walk you back to the train.”

“Oh.” Shane sounded dejected.

“Well ... I just figured you’d want to get home.”

“Actually,” he started slowly, “not to awkwardly invite myself somewhere where I’m not welcome, but I thought I’d just stay the night. If that’s okay with you, of course.”

“What? Yeah, of course that’s ok. I’m sorry, I just thought --”

“Well now I feel like it’s weird, I don’t want to be weird about it. I can go if you want me to.”

“No!” She stopped him quickly. “I just didn’t know if this was just a fling or ....”

“Well, do _you_ want me to stay the night?” Christine looked at Shane, and she immediately knew her answer.

“Yeah, yeah I do.”

“Ok, good.” He let out a sigh of relief. “Now take those clothes off and come back to bed. If I’m gonna spoon you, we’re doing it right.” That flutter came back to Christine’s stomach. She threw the clothes she had started to put on back onto the floor, and quickly climbed next to him, pulling her comforter over both of them. He put his arm around her shoulders. “Did you think I just wanted to fuck you and be done? Is that what you think all of this was about?”

“Well, sort of, maybe.”

“Damn! I mean, I know there are a lot of dudes like that, but I would never just hang out with you so I could get with you. I hung out with you because I really .... I really like hanging out with you. It was just extra if you wanted to have sex with me. But ... I just like hanging around you, you know?”

“Yeah, me too.” Christine felt a soft smile creeping up through her lips. She turned so that her back was against his chest, and he pulled her to him until his body was cradling hers. Again, she felt safe.

“By the way, great show tonight, Miss Director,” Shane whispered into her ear. She didn’t know how to respond, so all she did was lean over to turn off the lamp next to the bed. Beofre long, the only sound in the room was the slow, staggered breathing of the two of them as they drifted into sleep.

Around 4am, Christine’s phone went off, but she hardly even heard the “Africa” ringtone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, Shane is based on a real-life person I kind of know. Yeah, he's just as frustratingly sexy in real life.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first go with Real Person Fiction, so I hope you all like it!


End file.
